Comes the Dawn
by Clearlylock2
Summary: On June 6th of 1832, the barricades in Paris fell. Men were lost; far worse, hope for a republic was shattered. Paris saw failed uprisings over the years that followed while other European countries began to progress. But a campaign began in 1847. This campaign was the reason Enjolras and Aurelie were spared. It was what they had lived for.
1. Prologue: Borrowed Time

_Author's Note:_

_Should you wish to know where this all came from, you'll find the answers to that in my profile. This is a sequel to "Always Aurelie", which can be found written by "Clearlylock". I had to create another account, as I was out of document space. Should you chose to go read it, you can find the story or my profile through a search. _

_In no way am I suggesting it's necessary to go back and read that, though I humbly say that it is quite good. It parallels the events of the barricade through Aurelie; the woman who completes Enjolras, mirroring him in strength and honor. The writing is stylistically emulating Hugo. _

_This should stand alone, however. It is 1847 and it is time to usher in a new world for France. I thank those who have stuck with me, and I thank those who decide to give this a chance. I hope you find it worthy of a good read, a follow and a favorite, and a review (positive or negative, don't be afraid). _

_Welcome to the banquet._

* * *

**Prologue:**

**Borrowed Time**

* * *

It would do no good to pick up where our story left off, as it is generally turmoil that weaves a tale. When every day is magnificent and two people are as much in love as Enjolras and Aurelie, what can be told? That every morning they awoke in the other's arms to sunny days even when the sun was not shining? That Enjolras would place a kiss upon the foreheads at the table for breakfast, then return from work for supper to receive his own? That while there was much wrong in the world, in the Enjolras household everything was right?

It would all repeat upon itself daily, though there were plenty of occasions, as in any story, where things inevitably went wrong. Humankind does like to torture itself. Men like to flog their backs when those they love are discontent, and women like to wring their hands with worry over their children. A late husband, an illness, an accidental mismanagement of funds, a fight at school, an all-consuming workload, a disagreement: These are all minor storms, easily weathered, and the sun eventually breaks through the clouds.

What can be said of the years that followed?

We can tell you that these four men: Alexandre Enjolras, Marius Pontmercy, Benoit Beaulieu and Theodore Dupont were dedicated to their families and to each other. The fight had not left them, which was ever apparent when they were together as they'd debate politics and history until they had to shrug and say, "My wife will skin me alive if I don't get home." These four men worked hard to provide for their families and still change the world through their chosen professions: two lawyers, a physician and a National Guardsman.

We can tell you that their wives: Aurelie Enjolras, Cosette Pontmercy, Pauline Beaulieu and Agnes Dupont affectionately referred to the years between 1832-1837 as the half-decade of babies.

As we have told the story of Enjolras and Aurelie, we expand upon these five years by telling that just over a year later, Aurelie gave birth to their second son, Nicodeme Jehan. Sixteen months later, they had twin daughters: Manon Rosaire and Margot Rosarie. All four children had gold crowns and were impossibly stalwart, just as Aurelie and Enjolras had been at their ages. They knew what they wanted, and if it was not given, they would work to earn it.

Marius and Cosette's first child was named Aurore, in honor of Aurelie. Their second, Jean, in honor of Jean Valjean, their third Leandre, meaning lion, whom they likened to Enjolras.

They were not the only ones to honor Aurelie and Enjolras; in fact it was Theodore and Agnes who birthed two children late in this span of five years, and these two were outright named Alexandre and Aurelie, though they were called Andre and Elie as to not confuse a room.

Benoit, whom had married Pauline the following year, and under very strange circumstances was returned his family title, had named their two children after his father and mother: Edmond and Claire.

Imagine a household when these four couples would dine together! They would often say while 'round the table, "Thank heavens for Madame Begue!" and "I do not know how we would survive without Madame Moubray!"; these being the children's nurses, and dependent on where the dinner was served, one poor woman was stuck entertaining eleven children while the other three women breathed easy having a night off.

Living in the Enjolras' household was Madame Moubray, whom had gained employment after the twins were born. Aurelie had been adamant when it came to taking care of her children alone until the birth of Manon and Margot, when Enjolras finally insisted one night upon seeing the dark circles under Aurelie's eyes that they would hire a nurse and a maid, and it would be done tomorrow. As Enjolras entertained men of status on a regular basis, a butler was hired soon after, and these employees made such evenings a blessing instead of a burden.

None of them lost any sort of fire or vigor; they still dreamed of a republic, still idealized those countries on the globe that were making progress. In 1838, Marius and Cosette took a trip to Britain and returned with tales of Chartism; a movement that had begun through the working class in regards to their laws for voting. As you may well know, every country in Western Europe around this time had citizens uprising to create a just world and reduce the distance between castes. England charged ten pounds for each vote, which meant the poor had no say in their parliament. The months that followed Marius' return incited Enjolras once more.

But he had learned timing. That changes were being made across the world, and with proper timing, they would be well met. His timing before had been proper, but a failure. He would not fail again, his battle would need to be chosen wisely. So he waited. Spoke enthusiastically of each bit of news that came from these countries, followed every move made by the people. He was very much ready in the way only a leader can be, and if people did not rise against injustice, nothing would ever change.

Europe was evolving, and Enjolras felt lucky to live in a time to see it.

He felt lucky to have lived through the last at all.

Yes, they were all very blessed, and that is no story at all.

But there is always another story. This story is the one Enjolras lived to tell. It was for this story that Enjolras had been spared. As he had been born to love Aurelie, born to love his children, born to love Patria, he had been born for this story, and if the beginning sounds innocuous, then they did their job well.

This story begins with a banquet.


	2. Book One: The Difference Between

**BOOK ONE:**

**The Difference Between a Dinner Party and a Banquet**

* * *

A Good Evening before a Stormy Night

The mirror did not reflect Aurelie accurately. Her reflection was a beautiful pillar of strength. Perfect poise and posture. Unaffected. Dauntless. Ready.

She took a deep breath, feeling the antithesis of her reflection, and watched how her chest heaved with the action to remind herself that the woman in the mirror was actually her.

She wore a dress this evening that had only been completed this morning, its color the blood of a rose. Pearls had been sewn to accentuate the V-shape neckline—so wide it did not cover her shoulders—and that was as far as adornment went, as this dress had been commissioned to look unlike any other. The cut was in fashion for bourgeoisie, but there was no pattern to the fabric, no lace upon the ruffles, no textured embroidery. The satin shined in the light, nothing more, nothing less. It was meant to stand out for its color and would surprise because of its simplicity. It would be a harsh contrast to dresses other women wore tonight in its radiance and lack of excess. People would first see the dress with the blond hair, then they would see a beautiful woman, as her face could stand alone. Aurelie did not need jewels, lace or fancy patterns to shine, and that was exactly what they were counting upon.

This dress was a statement. It read: _Look at me. Now listen._

Around her neck was the simple gold chain Enjolras had given her when they were married, and she brought her hand up to twist the metal between her fingers. This was a motion only done in deep contemplation, and it went noticed by Enjolras, who finished tying his cravat.

"It's not the necklace you're worried about, is it?" Enjolras asked, knowing full well that it was not, as he was aware of this subconscious action and what it meant. But he continued so he wouldn't have to ask her outright. "Wear the diamonds, Aurelie."

Her eyes cast upon the chain first, then to the ring she'd been given after Honore's birth on her finger. A wedding ring. A late one, Enjolras had said apologetically when he'd given it to her. And since then, this chain had not been worn.

"I'll wear this tonight," Aurelie stated, then bit the inside of her lip. It was important that she wear this chain to dinner. It was a cruel reminder of what their evening meant. She was twenty again, and he was twenty-two. "Diamonds distract."

Enjolras tilted his head to the side with a wistful smile, then walked over to Aurelie. He did not gaze at her directly, he gazed at her reflection so he could look upon their love as a pair. A moment went by and she did not glance his way, instead still studying herself.

His flattened palms met her shoulders, then his fingers gently closed as he brought his lips to the base of her neck and placed a gentle kiss upon her skin. It never ceased to astound him as he did such things that he could; that this beautiful woman was his and his alone, and on a night like tonight, it was magnified because of _who_ she was, not what.

Glancing up through his brows at the mirror, he noticed that Aurelie still did not look at him, so he placed another kiss further up her neck, then another near her ear. But he did note her smile on this third kiss, and his grin was sly.

"I can distract you further, if you wish," he whispered, his lips at her ear.

"The entire point of this dress is to not be distracted," Aurelie said, though she was finally grinning, however small it was.

Red to catch the eye, simplicity to listen.

Acutely aware Aurelie needed a distraction, Enjolras, to ease her nerves, reverted to playful.

"Then perhaps you should take it off."

"Don't you dare," Aurelie said with a good-humored warning.

Enjolras began to toy with the sleeve, pulling it a centimeter down her shoulder. "I only mean so you can change into a different one," he said innocently, then kissed the skin he'd exposed. "It seems this dress is agitating you."

"It is not the dress that has me agitated," Aurelie said softly, finally looking her husband in the eyes.

He looked magnificent. Charming as always; his hair still golden blond curls, only more maintained. He had not lost his youthful features. He looked but a few years older than when she'd met him, and that was a time when people assumed he was but seventeen. And beside him, she noticed that she maintained her youth as well, despite the year being 1847.

It made her shiver.

"Aurelie," Enjolras said with a sigh, finally righting himself. "This is just a dinner party."

"I know what this is," Aurelie said levelly. She squared her shoulders as she inhaled deeply. "This is a beginning, but it is also an end. I've been here before. The only difference is that this is in our home and with the rich instead of outside another's with the poor."

Enjolras rubbed her shoulders in comfort as his head infinitesimally lowered. There was no need to argue her point well made; they both knew what this was. He would not mince words, she would not allow it.

"It is both, my love," he agreed, turning her to face him. He loved those sky-blue eyes, especially when they were in his. Letting an obvious gaze travel her, he said, "You look divine. You are the most beautiful woman in France, and Paris knows it. Tonight we are both ready. Let's live tonight and think about tomorrow when it comes."

There was a knock on the door, but neither had time to say anything before it burst open.

"Monsieur! Madame! I'm so sorry!" cried Madame Moubray as the twin ten-year-olds rushed over and began to coo over their mother's dress. "They wanted to come say good night before I take them to the Pontmercy residence."

"You look so pretty!" gushed Margot, the sweeter and shyer of the two girls.

"I wish I had such a dress," Manon added wistfully, though with a speculative eye that clearly had an undertone stating she truly wished she had such a dress, and could one please be commissioned?

Kneeling down a bit, Aurelie took each of the blond heads into a hand, her eyes darting rapidly between the two. "Thank you, my darlings," she said, her children evoking the beatific smile from her lips, despite how she felt tonight. She rose and eyed her two sons near the door.

All it took was this glance for them to incline their heads in respect, Honore placing a casual hand in his pocket once he'd done so. "You do look lovely, mother," he said, then met his father's eyes and, once again, inclined his head as he said, "Father."

An argument had taken place this very morning between father and eldest son. The family had sat around the breakfast table as Enjolras and Aurelie went over the names of those who would be attending tonight, discussing exactly who came from what and why they mattered. Honore had spoken up over hearing one of these names: the Langelier's, of which Honore knew of as a prominent family and patrons of the school he attended with their two daughters.

Some questions were asked, followed by some politics, and the debate became an argument ending with accusations. Honore had demanded that he was not to be treated as a child any longer; that he was a teenager and no longer needed protection; that he could quote Voltaire and Robespierre; that he knew of dates such as 1789, 1799, 1830, and most importantly to Honore, 1832.

Both Enjolras and Aurelie had been very honest with their children of that night, as they must be. So many conversations of history and politics took place beneath this roof that served as additional schooling to their children, deliberately or inadvertently turning them into young revolutionaries; Aurelie and Enjolras had yet to decide which.

Be that as it may, it was not a date to be mentioned on this particular July day to either of them. Aurelie suddenly became ashen, Enjolras the opposite. As Aurelie brought her hand to her lips and averted her gaze in shame and fear, Enjolras' lower lip pushed forward in consternation.

His tone clipped, however calm, he'd said: "When you are old enough to understand why speaking of that year is inappropriate this morning, you will be old enough to attend such an evening."

Seeing his son now, immediately after the reminder from Aurelie of what tonight meant, had Enjolras remembering their argument this morning, and with Honore appearing so contrite, he worried that what he'd said may have had the opposite effect he'd been hoping for.

Essentially, Enjolras worried that Honore spent the day reflecting upon his words and now understood why they'd been spoken, which would mean, in short, that he was old enough to attend such an evening.

At fourteen, Honore was an exact echo of his father, perhaps even older in his frame of mind than Enjolras had been at this age. He could directly compete in debates with Enjolras' friends and had a remarkable way of receiving responses from their mouths as though they were talking to an adult. Equally charming, equally terrifying, Honore had been a serious boy the second he'd been birthed. Instead of playing with toys, he dissected them; studying the how's and the why's instead of enjoying the merriment they brought. He wanted to know why a rattle made a noise, how a mobile turned. He'd learn from blocks, how they needed to be stacked to achieve optimal height and strength enough not to topple without force. He was reading as early as two, writing at four. He had learned the piano, not for the creativity of it, but for the theory of how tones worked together to create music. He understood justice, but above that, he understood injustice. When his friends would pull legs from spiders, he was the first to speak on the spider's behalf, and fearsomely enough that these bug-torturers never did such a thing again. When asked about his day at school, he remarked on the knowledge of the teachers, not on the knowledge of his classmates. He was inquisitive, learning of a topic at school, then coming directly to his parents for them to expand upon it. Better, he retained information so it could be espoused later. Worse, he tacked on his own opinions at far too young of an age to be decisive about anything. Far worse, his deductions were always the same resolve both Enjolras and Aurelie would syllogize before. Be that as it may, we return to his charm because it was the umbrella that allowed all of this to be viewed as wonderful and not terrifying. He was perceptive enough to notice when adults began to fear his words and would break the ice with a witty phrase that would leave them chuckling. Honore lived up to his name, and not only did he love his parents, he deeply respected them. He was aware of their greatness and strived to match them.

More important than any of this, Honore was a perfect son and brother. He took his role of the eldest seriously, always setting the best example he could for his brother and two sisters. He taught them, he helped them, he protected them.

Recognizing fully that Honore's humbled nod needed affirmation, Enjolras left Aurelie's side and walked over to his son. Placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, Enjolras nodded back with a smile to assure him that while this morning was not forgotten, it was forgiven.

"You and I will take a walk tomorrow," Enjolras told him, his tone a promise that they would further their discussion openly and without the tension. That all concerns would be addressed. He then moved his hand to Nicodeme, who was not to be called by his full name, not ever; Nicodeme had made that very clear at a very early age. "Honore and Nic, you'll look after your sisters tonight, yes?"

"Yes," they said in sync.

At the same time, Manon, the more outspoken and precocious of the two, groaned.

"We don't require looking after," she said, her lower lip the exact shape as Enjolras', with the same ability to push forward in disdain. It was only this lip that differentiated the twins; Margot's lips were a copy of her mother's.

Aurelie laughed and knelt down once more. "Come," she said, beckoning the brood with her arms. "Give me a kiss good night and be on your way."

She appreciated that the girls would always be eager to hug her, as her two sons had become reluctant with their hugs by the age of eight.

But they too walked over to hug Aurelie in turn, each placing a kiss on her cheek while the twins attacked Enjolras with flair.

"Good night, Monsieur, Madame," Madame Moubray said, palming the shoulder of each child as they marched in a line out the door. "Have a pleasant evening, and I'll have them back by breakfast."

"Thank you, Madame," Enjolras said, his hand on the door. "Thank you for all of this. I've no doubt you wish to sleep in your own bed, and we are both sorry for the inconvenience."

Though they treated her as though she was family, she did not say what she wished to, feeling telling them to be careful was too inappropriate. So she instead said, "No inconvenience at all. You know I rather like Madame Pontmercy. And it's always a pleasure spending an evening with Madame Begue. The children will have a wonderful time."

When Enjolras shut the door, Aurelie's look was austere. Toying with the chain around her neck, her lips pursed to an outline of white, she stared at him severely.

"Be sparse with hosting such evenings in the future. We are not the Café Musain."

* * *

People Have to Eat Somewhere

The guests arrived at seven for an eight o'clock dinner, and while drinks were served, Aurelie took the time to pop in and out of the kitchen to make sure everything was perfect. This was, after all, the first of such banquets held.

Such is the unfortunate consequence of marrying a born leader. When the whispers began, it was only natural that they turn to the man who exuded confidence and radiated authority. Enjolras was not only congenial, he was influential and knowledgeable. Without intending to, he dominated all men even when they did not know they were under his command. He inadvertently maintained authority even though he avoided political leadership. Even those superior felt subordinate in his presence, and strangely, it did not even bother them. Everyone was drawn to him with such force that they forgot their own self-importance.

Most had not brought their wives, but enough had that Aurelie was not the only woman in the room. She was, however, the only woman men saw. Enjolras took the head of the table, which normally seated twelve, however they'd managed to slide in enough chairs for eighteen, fourteen of whom were men. Beside Enjolras to his immediate left was Aurelie. Marius was on his right.

Monsieur Vannier sat at the head directly across from Enjolras. He owned a half a dozen foundries just outside of Paris, triple that throughout the country, thusly named the Metal Man, as he controlled upwards of thirty percent of the iron in France. There were many reasons he was here tonight, the largest being that he was industrial; the government viewed him as a rich landowner, nothing more, unlike the financial bourgeoisie such as bankers and railroad tycoons. Such railroad tycoons—and we pardon the expression—railroaded him legally even though he provided more iron than any other company.

It was, in this time, the financial bourgeoisie who controlled the world. As Jacque Lafitte had said in 1830, "From now on, the bankers will rule."

On the opposite side of the spectrum was Cuny; an activist who had taken a role at the barricades in 1832. He had recently been released from prison and looked as much; he had no money, no job, no place to stay, though he had managed to scrounge up the proper attire for tonight's soirée. He'd been invited to incite and to contain. Cuny had shouted "Vive la Republic" after he'd been sentenced to a death, a sentence which had been commuted when Louis Philippe, after an extreme amount of pressure, finally announced: "King of the barricades of July, Pardoner of the barricades of June."

Where Vannier needed a fire lit to act, Cuny needed to dim his flame until the proper time when every man was in his place.

They would not fail again.

"Welcome to my home," Enjolras said, rising at the head of the table. "I am not going to pretend we are all friends; that anyone here would share a meal together outside of this banquet and any future banquets held. But as our freedom of public assembly has long since become a crime, it is only in private gatherings that we can rally one another, then take the words to banquets of our own. We are bonded by our beliefs, bonded in a higher call that transcends friendship, which makes us a fraternity of brothers for a common goal. We all know who you are: that you have the ears of other great men, and tonight we dictate for such men where we go from here. We, citizens, are Paris. We are the city that holds together France, and each of you is a road to others. This is the only way possible, and so the opportunity must be seized. Here I present representation.

"History has shown us revolutions that result in change, for the people must rise against injustice or the world does not evolve. But history has also led us to believe that those with wealth think only one way, and that the way is current and likeminded with the state. This is not the case, or you would not be here tonight. Every man at this table has the words, every man has the wealth. Never before have such men been dauntless enough to take a stand, it has only been those who have nothing to lose. These men who are in power act out of cowardice, those with nothing to lose have been brave. But we are the engine. We are the bourgeoisie, which admittedly, I despise. Our wealth and status has the capability to sway, but without commonality, we do not have the capability to change. Here I present you with the numbers, and as a force together, I present you with a republic.

"Tonight we begin a process, well thought out and well planned. We take our time, because for each of us, this is our last shot. There will be no more failed uprisings, for these failures only strengthen the monarchy's resolves. Tales are spun and propaganda is spread to the public who are not educated enough to know it is but a puppet speaking. Who controls these strings? The government. We have a free press paid mightily by people like us, but it has been a façade. This country cannot stand these small displays that fail any longer, for it shows over and over again the strength and power of the monarchy and government. With each failure, more fear to rise again. This is why it is upon us. This is why I glorify now that I am a bourgeois. The masses are indeed the majority, but they have not yet had our support, and here I present a victory."

Placing a hand on Enjolras', Aurelie rose. "And here I present you with dinner," she said with a self-deprecating smile, then ushered toward the door where the footmen were waiting to serve their meal. Raising her glass of wine into the air, she added, "Let us drink to our partnership, our newfound friends, and to our future success."

The toast was well received, and Aurelie noticed that her husband's words had achieved the desired effect. She could not yet decide if she was proud or terrified.

But she was ready. In the closet on June 6th, 1832, God had answered her prayers. Because she had accepted the death of Enjolras, God had kept her safe and she had managed to, impossibly, walk the streets of Paris in blood-soaked trousers and not have a single question asked of her. She had lived in purgatory for the months that followed, believing him dead, and yet Enjolras had been delivered to her.

Which meant God had a higher plan for him. God was returning her life to her for the sake of her child and the children to come. But even God cannot change a man he has created once the work has been complete. Enjolras may have grown, but he would never change. He was a revolutionary, and not just any other. He was a leader. Enjolras was only on loan to her. There would come a day when she would lose him to the republic, so Aurelie could only be grateful for the years that followed one day at a time.

The year had arrived, the day was near. It was borrowed time she'd had in response to her acceptance that he would inevitably be lost once more.

And the timing was right. For both of them, really. Aurelie believed in this as much as he, and recognized sacrifice for a greater good. Their children, still young, had been raised to understand the world. Should the very worst happen, finances were in place, caregivers were on call.

This banquet had been planned for many months. Not a day had gone by where it went undiscussed, and that included preparing for all possible outcomes. Such conversations were hard on both. You would be wrong to think that Enjolras pushed this upon Aurelie, or that Aurelie had simply caved. You would be wrong to believe that a detail was too feared to be talked of, as with all things, Enjolras and Aurelie settled for nothing less than a masterpiece.

"And if we are arrested?"

"—Our children live with the Pontmercy's, assuming Marius is not with us. If he is, they legally go to Benoit and Pauline."

"And if we are separated?"

"You flee to England with the family. We will make such arrangements for travel ahead of time, and we are welcome with the Hughes in Cambridge."

"And if the situation is grave?"

"We abide by our duty to family, first and foremost. Should either of us deem it time to run, we listen and we obey."

"And if you die?"

"I die with you."

"Be serious."

"I finish what was started and see it through, despite any pain I am left in."

It does not matter who said what, because they both said it all. The conversations were equally shared with questions and answers, and though few tears were shed and very rarely, they had both cried at one point.

Marius was here tonight, but Cosette was not, nor would she ever be. Grown up as they all may be, none of these women were Aurelie. This had been a point of contention; Aurelie ganged up upon by everyone but Enjolras to stay away from it. It was only Enjolras who understood that she was both dauntless and devout, and while he did not wish to ever repeat June of 1832—while it pained him physically that she would always determine to stay by his side—he did not speak out against her once.

No, Cosette was to stay as far removed from all of it as possible. She was the godmother and she believed her duty to the title pious. She was the umbrella to weather any storm blown their way. They had all determined, including Cosette, that no plans should reach her ears at any point should they end up carted away and accused of treason or plots. Cosette was to be left untouched.

The same went for Pauline and Agnes, though this was loosely defined. Nothing was shared, though nothing was hidden.

Enjolras, Marius and Aurelie were the leaders, Benoit and Theodore the core, Pauline and Agnes the onlookers, Cosette the passerby. And walking this ladder back up, should any of this meet trial, Cosette was the saint, Pauline and Agnes the servants, Benoit and Theodore the parishioners, the other three; the sinners.

Though everyone knew, including the men at this table, that Enjolras was the general. And in this church, should the world be destroyed, he would be sold as the devil.

"It is about properly training citizens," Aurelie said to Monsieur Louis Blanc, a writer for an independent liberal paper. "We cannot fault a life for having been born into the wrong environment. The son of a prostitute is just as worthy as the son of a duke. It must be up to their person to define who they are, not their mother, though we do not live in a just world and I don't foresee a time when this will change. But with training programs for the underprivileged, such men can define themselves as more than they were given from the womb. This leaves us with any man who wishes to and is capable of working in employment, which betters our country and what it produces."

"But they will all cry: 'The cost! What of the cost!'" Louis Blanc argued.

"A year of training a man and placing him a new job doubles output in trade. Our country is rich enough to begin investing in its own citizens."

Louis Blanc thought this through with his hand holding his chin, then smiled at Aurelie, having never met a woman in all his years who could match him in conversations of politics.

"You, Madame, are rather astounding. Where were you when I was a young man on a crusade for love?"

Aurelie laughed delightfully, having once perfected this art of volleying against flirtatious men before their barricades. "Monsieur, I believe you would have found me with this man here," she said, her hand crawling over to Enjolras', which caught her husband's attention long enough for him to smile, then return to the conversation he had been holding with Marius and Cuny. "That or my family's land in Lavaur, depending on the year. My father was Baron de Beaulieu, back when the particle 'de' was essential to parading nobility."

"I know this name," Louis Blanc said, leaning back in his chair and subconsciously running a hand through his black locks.

"You would know of the living Baron Beaulieu, who is my brother, Benoit," Aurelie explained, then shook her head with her radiant smile. "A ridiculous story of Louis Philippe, no doubt unable to sleep at night, wishing those whose titles were stripped before the July Revolution to be returned to them."

Louis Blanc laughed. "Ah, our good King of July. He certainly aims to please!"

"All the wrong people," Aurelie agreed. "And in the process, he ends up stepping on toes he'd hoped to avoid as he trips along."

Across the table, in response to a diatribe Cuny had espoused on beginning the new revolutionary wave immediately, Marius said, "My good man, Cuny. You've only just left prison with your yellow passport. Perhaps you should breathe the fresh air before you get yourself thrown back in!"

"Next time I die before I go to jail," Cuny replied gravely.

Enjolras raised a sardonic brow.

"No," he said. "Next time we win."

When a conversation had a moment of enlightenment with those speaking, a man would stand and raise his glass to get the attention of all eyes and ears, then entertain with a speech, telling the story in the way one begins with: "I was just speaking of the bankers to my friend, Monsieur l'Eure," and follows with a transcript of who said what and why it was so important to be brought to the entire table.

As these long tables are not exactly designed for intimate conversations with different people, when dinner was finished, they began to hover. Enjolras took two men to his study for a more private conversation while Aurelie indulged two wives and their frivolities, hiding how her eyes would roll behind closed lids. She did get her opportunities to speak, however, and those who heard her found her fascinating.

The evening was long, but what put an end to it was this:

"This is no banquet!" Monsieur Langelier called above the noise, stepping upon a footstool to get a head taller than the rest. He then held his goblet of wine in the air, and all eyes turned to him as he hollered across the room with a large sloppy grin. "Enjolras, my friend, this has been the most enlightening and fascinating dinner I have ever had the pleasure to attend, and I thank you and your wife sincerely for throwing such an event. But it seems to me, gentlemen, that if we are to do this properly, and if we are to prepare such an offensive effort, we need a show. Each of you throw your dinner parties and I will be the first to RSVP, but you are to tell your attendees they are hereby invited indirectly to my estate for a true banquet on the first Saturday in August. So we cannot assemble publicly? I say we assemble—truly assemble with full force—privately, damned if they know it or not."

Enjolras caught Aurelie's eyes and smiled infinitesimally upon seeing how they sparkled. This was what they had been hoping for, whilst dreading, as there was certainly fear to be had. Enjolras knew now that he could lead silently, or at least equally with these influential men. And it was time that the government knew that a volcano had been stirred to life, and it would not be long before it erupted.

One man met the toast with this: "Let them ban private assembly! I'd like to see how well that goes over!"

Another said: "As Enjolras said earlier, let us glorify our status and use it for the people who have none!"

A third called to Langelier: "You are the first good man to offer it, let me be the next. We will follow with another at my estate!"

Cuny, who had been talking with Aurelie, shrugged.

"People have to eat somewhere," he muttered, then clinked her wine glass and turned away.

* * *

A Game of Chess

Monsieur Chaverin, butler to the Enjolras residence for the better part of a decade now, shut the door after the final guest's departure, then turned to his employers.

"I sent the footmen away with their wages for the evening," he said to Enjolras. Monsieur Chaverin was one of three servants permanently retained by the household, and his granddaughter, Mademoiselle Elaine, had served as their maid for the last two years. Their third was the children's nurse.

"Thank you for the work tonight," Enjolras told him, then clapped his shoulder. "It was a late night, and you have my gratitude for your willingness to be part of such a thing."

Chaverin's chest swelled. "I am proud to say I work for you, Monsieur. And I will be very proud when we live in a republic to say that I served as butler at the first banquet, so it is I who must thank you."

Noticing Aurelie placing empty glasses on a tray, he quickly rushed over to her, but righted himself to appear proper before she was reached. "Madame, you're not to worry yourself," he said. "Please get yourself to bed; Mam'selle Elaine plans to be here early to clean before you break your fast."

Exhaling deeply, Aurelie placed the glass in her hand on the tray, then set the tray down on the serving table. She smiled wearily at Chaverin, the man at least twenty-five years her senior. "Thank you, Chaverin. Please take tomorrow off. I know we will be."

As the butler's eyes met Enjolras for approval, Enjolras was already nodding.

"Then I will see you Monday," Chaverin responded, then gathered his hat from the hook. "Good night Madame. Monsieur."

Enjolras latched the door behind him, then walked over to Aurelie, who had returned to putting glasses on the tray. Behind her, he placed his hands on her waist and brought his lips to her ear.

"What did you think?"

"No more or less than I expected," Aurelie said with an invisible shrug, but as she reached for another glass, Enjolras swiftly caught her wrist with his hand, his other wrapping around her waist.

"Stop with the glasses," he said in a whisper, but the cadence was a demand.

Aurelie noted how entirely seductive he could be in moments like these. Yes, an arm wrapped around her, a hand holding her wrist still. And as he asked his initial question once more, Aurelie's eyes became hooded as she exhaled.

Twisting around so she remained in his arms, she met his eyes.

"I believe it was the outline of a masterpiece," she said, beaming at him. She began to untie his cravat with deft fingers. "Langelier loves you, his wife is without a doubt in love with you. The man has universities in his pocket, which means a load of educates. Cuny you tamed, which means a load of wild revolutionaries, both optimistic and pessimistic, but they will be the muscle when the time comes. Louis Blanc will write of such ideas, spreading word to those none of us know. Vannier has the repressed industrialists, and every man tonight has a reason to hate the financial bourgeois."

His cravat untied, Aurelie brought both hands to rest on his chest and finally met his eyes. "I can say every day of my life that I am proud to be your wife, but tonight I am humbled by it. Of all the women in the world, you chose me."

Enjolras' pupils hit the ceiling as he shook his head. "As if any other woman was strong enough to stand by my side." Gazing at her once more, he said with a tone of endearment, "You make me human, Aurelie. Without you beside me, such men would think me terrifying, though I do believe they have more to fear when speaking to you, as you far surpass their intelligence. They have as much substance as you have in your little finger."

As this was said, Enjolras had taken her hand, and when he finished this phrase, he gently took the tip of her pinky to his lips, then kissed it. "And how are you feeling?" he asked levelly, then moved to her ring finger to repeat the kiss.

"Tired," Aurelie said, watching him finish his rounds to each finger before he brought her palm to his lips and kissed it. "But that's not what you're asking."

"No," Enjolras said, shaking his head. "That's not what I'm asking."

"Let me get us some water and I'll meet you upstairs."

"I'll still be asking," Enjolras called after her as she disappeared through the dining room.

Aurelie snuffed the lanterns through the dining room on her way to the kitchen. Filling two glasses with water from a pitcher, she drank hers down, then refilled. She walked through the house, extinguishing all flames, taking advantage of these few minutes of silence. It was nice to be alone after all these men had flooded her house and she wasn't quite ready to head upstairs.

So with her one lantern, the glasses of water placed upon a table, Aurelie sat down on their blue sofa. The lamp cast an eerie glow throughout the room and she relished in it. The toile wallpaper depicted country scenes that reminded her of Lavaur, and she made a promise to herself that she would take her children there one last time before things became too volatile. She briefly thought perhaps she should leave them there before Paris once again flooded with angry men, which included their father and mother.

She noted that she'd loved this house, despite her shock when it had been purchased. When she'd first walked in, she couldn't imagine Enjolras living in such a place: large rooms with high ceilings, crown molding, wainscoting and polished wood. They'd both grown up in wealth but had taken a silent vow of poverty somewhere along the line, and she did not believe for a second she'd ever return. But he had done this for his family.

Everything he had done in the past fifteen years had been for her, and it was due time she repaid the debt by letting him go. She knew this clearly, and because Aurelie was not comfortable with outwardly displaying emotions, no one but Enjolras would ever have known that she struggled with it.

It is not easy to tell the man you love to risk it once more after having been through it already.

What was easy for Aurelie was standing by his side. If he must face off with the National Guard again, she would be holding his hand as it was done. They had agreed she would not hide this time, and as Aurelie believed in a republic as fiercely as he—as she believed in him as he did her—it was even easier.

When she felt ready a few minutes later, she gathered the glasses and made her way upstairs to the bedroom.

Inside, Enjolras was just about to climb into bed, and he raised a brow. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Never," Aurelie said, then set down the lamp on her side of the bed. She handed him his glass, took a sip of hers, then placed that beside the lamp before crossing over to her vanity. Just as she was about to reach behind to unbutton her dress, Enjolras' fingers were working the buttons down, so she relaxed her shoulders, lightly closed her lids, and decided to just feel.

She'd need to note how the simplest of actions still coaxed a gentle smile from her lips, in the case these things were lost. Then she let that go, as she would not allow such dark thoughts to cloud them.

"You smell nice," Enjolras said gently, this the first moment he'd had a chance to pay attention to the finer details, as his mind had been too busy before the dinner party compiling how he'd get through to each man; what words would touch them, what phrases would light their fire. Through the mirror, he saw the corners of her mouth curve into a smile, which made him echo it.

He loved that, alone with her, he had not tired of their intimacy. In his family, his father had a separate room, and he could not remember a time he'd seen his parents touch. He'd assumed that, with time, this was what marriages became, but it had proved to be the opposite. They were both still as excitable, only more comfortable. They were affectionate in front of their children and it was expanded upon alone with flair. And he smiled as he thought of this, glad his children would understand what love should look like.

Aurelie stepped from her dress, then set to unpinning her hair as Enjolras unlaced her corset. She'd never wanted a handmaid, Enjolras had never wanted a valet. Their closeness was communion; they took care of the other instead of relying on others because, in the end, they could only count on each other.

When he'd finished with the corset, he gathered her lace robe and helped her shrug it on over her chemise. She sat down and began removing her earrings as Enjolras softly swept her hair back from her shoulders.

But as he began to unclasp the chain, she placed her hand over the front. "No," she said. "Leave it."

"Why did you wear the chain tonight?" he asked openly, genuinely curious. He'd found it peculiar, but had not questioned it, only suggested she wear the diamonds instead.

"You gave this to me when we were married, at least legally," she said, admiring how her husband still appeared young, but not so young that she didn't look younger still.

"I'm well aware," Enjolras said with a chuckle. "But you don't wear it often, and you shouldn't, of course; not as you wear proof of our union on your finger. I'm curious as to why tonight."

Aurelie sighed; appreciated the next moment when Enjolras placed his hands on her shoulders and lightly rubbed them.

"We are twenty again," she said, then sucked in a deep breath. "When you gave this to me, you were wild with the revolution. I wanted to feel it on my skin tonight; a reminder of the past and who you are."

"That's awfully dark, Aurelie," Enjolras said, pursing his lips and peering at her through the mirror.

She smiled half-heartedly. "I suppose it is," she responded. "But it's also a reminder of who I was. I was the girl who hid at the barricade because I believed in it all so firmly and refused to allow you to die behind my back."

"You're still that girl," Enjolras said fondly, never letting his gaze through the mirror stray as he looked at the woman who mirrored him.

"I am," she agreed. "And this chain solidifies it for me. Feeling the weight of it around my neck—even though it weighs as much as air—returns me to those days, signifying the best and the worst of them."

"Still quite dark," Enjolras said, perturbed.

"Perhaps," she said, raising a brow, then turned around on the bench. "But you asked why and I've given it to you, nonetheless."

Cradling her face, Enjolras said, "Indeed, and I've always loved your honesty. Come to bed, let me hold you."

Once under the quilts, Aurelie laid her head on his chest, her delicate fingers tracing his collarbone. She loved the smell of him; the feel of his skin against hers. It was only in these times; his arms around her as they lay in bed, that she wanted the world to stop turning. Together, no world existed. She felt safe and protected, and she indeed was. Enjolras would throw himself in front of any who wished to harm her or his children.

"It's funny," Enjolras said, his hand pausing on her back. "Speaking of such days, I thought I knew the epitome of bravery, but I did not understand the full extent of the fire that drives one to be brave. Then I thought it was anger over injustice, but it's deeper than that. In fact, it was you who taught me of what fuels bravery far better than anger after the birth of Honore. Do you remember it?"

Aurelie smiled wistfully. "I called Marius over," she said. "In this very bed. Looking at Honore, all questions were answered with such clarity that I'll never forget that moment."

"You said it was for love." Enjolras could feel his heart in his chest as he thought about how this had impacted him. "Because of you, I am valiant instead of reckless, which is why I believe so firmly that the outcome of this will sway in our favor. Love is far more flammable of a fuel to light a flame than anger, and because it is necessary to keep you and our children safe, I will be nothing less than a titan when the heat is on."

"How long do you think?"

"The people won't take long," Enjolras mused. "Three months and this will no longer just be a spark. Three more to plan for timing and placement. Another month to gather what we need. I'd say just after the new year."

Aurelie could not help her shudder, which went noticed by Enjolras. He brought his hand up and began to soothingly pet her hair.

"How are you feeling?" he repeated, his question that had gone unanswered earlier.

"Equally as dedicated," Aurelie said, and that was the truth of it. "And equally as terrified, if not more so."

Enjolras took a moment to think about this, let it sink in. He knew absolutely that he had the power to better their country, but after 1832, he understood duty.

"It is not too late," he said. He would not do anything without her blessing. "If you would like us to step out of this now, these men—"

Aurelie was already shaking her head. "We agreed it will never be too late," she interrupted. "Should one of us feel we should run, even face to face with the National Guard it will not be too late. I'm with you and I am resolved. I only add that it terrifies me, as the two can go hand in hand."

"What can I do?"

As Aurelie thought this through, her eyes wandered their bedroom, and she thought of her family: her children, her brother, her parents, even her friends, these indeed her family even if not bonded by blood.

"I'd like to take the children to Lavaur," Aurelie said decidedly, then thought further. "I'd like to stay in France, as it is our home, but they could stand to get out of Paris. Perhaps circle down to Marseille. I believe I could use the sea breeze before I'm smothered by the air of a revolution."

This elicited a chuckle from Enjolras, and he kissed the crown of her head. "We have four weeks before the Langelier banquet. I could have things arranged tomorrow for a Sunday departure."

Placing her palms on his chest, Aurelie swiveled so she could rest her chin upon them to look him in the eyes. "It will give you some time to rally, though I hate to be away from you that long," Aurelie said sadly.

Raising a brow, Enjolras said, "Who said away? I'd be coming with, assuming you want me to, of course."

"You really could?" Aurelie asked, her laugh one of surprise and doubt. "You have your job, and on top of that, you have men to rile up!"

"Men will always rile themselves, just give them a king and they're half way there," Enjolras told her, and he loved how she peered at him, as though she'd thought he'd honestly allow her to take a journey without him, especially now. Who knew if they'd have a chance to again?

"And of your job?"

"Cremieux is already in it," Enjolras said, speaking of the man who had given him the job and defended so many men at trials after the barricades. "He knows as everyone does, however much they silently deny it, that I will end up pushed into leadership the closer we come—"

"We agreed—" Aurelie interrupted with warning, lifting herself fully from his chest to sit above him.

She didn't make it any further before he interrupted her right back.

"—We agreed I could _manipulate_ these men," he said, stressing the word, "without rising to leadership, but let's be honest; the day we erupt will be no different than June—"

"It damn well better be!"

Yes. They were domesticated, but they had not lost their fire.

"You would leave our fate on a volatile day up to bourgeois?!" Enjolras cried, his eyes narrowed as he adjusted his position from laying to leaning. "These men have never seen—"

"They were not alive in 1832?" Aurelie demanded, her arms flailing outward. "They've certainly seen it, and though there haven't been barricades since, of which we don't even know if there will be come our time once more, they have certainly seen the violence of an uprising!"

"And whom of them has picked up a sword?"

"How are we to know?" Aurelie asked in bewilderment. "You have, and take a step back, because I believe you'll find yourself parallel in status and wealth."

Enjolras gave her a gaze that could have been accompanied with an eye roll, if he ever lowered himself to the action, which he did not. And he said nothing.

Realizing he was answering with his look, Aurelie did roll her eyes, an action she did not feel above, however rarely it occurred. "Don't look at me as though it's ridiculous," she said, but he did not alter his features, only magnified them. "So forget that they may not have ever picked up a sword; there was once a time when you had not, yet you led perfection."

The blink Enjolras made was slow and lethargic, his features nothing short of bland.

"Did I?"

Aurelie shook her head, her chin pushed forward in indignation. "Don't do that," she breathed. "Saint Michel was the last barricade standing. It was not your fault you were deserted, left facing the entire Paris Army alone."

It was barely noticeable, but the corners of Enjolras' mouth crept up, as she'd just made his point for him.

"Repeat what you just said," Enjolras dared, his words clipped, over enunciating the consonants. "And then tell me our fate should be left to other men."

As her lips parted, Aurelie went rigid.

She could see it. She was not seeing her husband just now; her vision suddenly showed her a barricade. And she realized that every time they had talked in the last few months, though they'd both agreed he would not lead, she'd had the exact same picture in her head: a mountain of furnishings, an army down the street, Enjolras at the top with a musket.

She'd denied that position of him in any conflict, chalking his placement up to her memory instead of a prediction of the future. But hard as she tried just now, she could not install another man in that location. Like a queen in a game of chess, Aurelie could relocate herself across the board: behind a pillar of pawns, out front offensively, standing sentinel until strategically necessary to use. But Enjolras was the king. He may shift, but he'd never travel far, and such was his place at the barricade. She'd seen him directly center through most of June 5th, and through the window on June 6th, he had leaned against the staircase with his swords. But no matter what, he was atop and fighting openly. He was the leader, and the last of the pieces left standing until it was checkmate.

His hand met hers, and though she could not look at him, she heard him softly say: "It is not too late."

The smile she did not feel, but it appeared none the less.

"It's been too late since the day I met you," she said, then met his eyes. "I've lived on borrowed time, Enjolras, and I accept it." As he began to open his mouth, she cut him off while shaking her head; shaking herself out of it. "You were saying about Cremieux?"

"Aurelie . . ."

"Hmm? Yes. Oh, of course. No . . . I'm—what is it?"

It was the sort of absentminded words one uses when they're trying to maintain composure whilst on the brink of losing it; nothing more than noise to try and assure the person speaking that everything is well. This, along with bright eyes not felt and a smile that is feigned.

There was a long pause while Enjolras studied her; him perfectly still, Aurelie making little motions with her shoulders and chin for him to continue.

He remembered this. The same had happened five days before the barricades, though would have happened sooner had she been in Paris and he'd seen her eyes. She believed in a republic, more so; she believed in him, but that did not make her immune to the fear and heartache before an inevitable, and through hers, he felt his.

They both knew this.

"Cremieux will be with us," he finally said, deciding not to insult her with coddling. They'd address the misunderstanding of his role as it came. Neither knew yet where he would be, they simply had different ideas of the extent. "He knows what I bring to the table, so he will not mind a month of extra work while I take some time."

"You can really do this?" Aurelie asked hopefully.

Enjolras smiled at her as he squeezed her hand. "It has been seventeen years since we met, and if you have not noticed yet that I would tilt the earth for you, then you have not been paying attention. Tomorrow I'll tie up any loose ends and we will leave Sunday morning for Lavaur. While we're in the south, it would be morally wrong to skip over Foulayronnes."

A laugh escaped, and Aurelie finally relaxed enough to allow him to pull her close once more.

"Let's abandon our children there," Enjolras continued. "You and I can take a few nights in Agen alone; my parents would be elated to lose us so they can spoil the kids."

"What else are grandparents for?"

"And godparents," Enjolras said. "I'll remind you that they are there now, which makes us alone tonight in our ostentatious house."

Aurelie's laugh was all knowing and rather wicked. "Whatever could we do?" she sang innocently.

Instead of responding, Enjolras clutched her, rolling with her until she was on her back. And without a word, Enjolras showed her the extent of what could be done.


	3. Book Two: Children Will Listen

**BOOK TWO:**

**Children Will Listen**

* * *

In Sharp Contrast of a Banquet

Things could only get worse until there was an outcome, but Aurelie and Enjolras had finally waded into the cold water, and by morning, the shock of it all was fading. Now it was about easing in until they had to swim.

"And how were things at the Pontmercy's?" Aurelie asked while sharing breakfast with her family the following morning.

If you had been able to look upon this wonderfully familial moment, you might have believed yourself to be looking upon a meeting of angels; certainly there could have not have been a more radiant gathering. Naturally, Enjolras sat at the head of the table, and there was a serenity about him that was always apparent when spending time with those he cherished most.

At his right sat Aurelie, as beautiful as ever. Her eyes were surveying each of her precious children as only a mother can, taking in each new scuff and mark on their clothing, noticing how Nico was beginning to grow out of his shirts much too quickly for her liking. He'd been the smallest of the bunch and was finally coming into himself.

Beside Aurelie sat the aforementioned child. The thirteen year old was growing to be almost a perfect reflection of his father, yet had more of his mother's temperament. He sat quietly and contemplated his eggs with the sort of revered silence that comes from life as the middle child, the placating angel amongst the chaos. At Enjolras' left sat the eldest son, with whom we are already quite familiar. Honore was just as handsome as his father had been at aged fourteen, if not more so, for his mother's beauty enhanced him. He sat with a calm grace, as though he was a grand statue, however a mother knows that beneath such stoic features, a tempest can be brewing, Aurelie reminded herself to keep an eye on her eldest son's temper, it was becoming too wild a fire in her opinion.

Between the two sons sat the twins: Manon on the left, Margot on the right, perfect mirrors of each other. Margot and Manon were inseparable, and not just because it was almost impossible to tell them apart, it took a close inspection from anyone outside of this angelic family to distinguish between the two. This led to much mischief from the twins, although one can be almost certain it would have been the master plan of Manon, who had a more ferocious air about her than her sister. It was evident that the subject of the Pontmercy's was a sore one for these young girls.

The twins scowled. It was Manon who said, "Leandre is a brat."

Enjolras and Aurelie eyed one another with a silent laugh before Enjolras wiped the grin from his face.

"Manon, that is unacceptable," Enjolras told her, attempting to be stern but falling drastically short. Aurelie turned her head away so they would not see her begin to chuckle. This was a common occurrence in the Enjolras household, as their children were just as outspoken and headstrong as their parents.

"He is!" Manon cried, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back in her chair, challenging her father with narrowed eyes. "He took our dolls and hid them, and Aurore tried to help us find them but we couldn't. They're still there!"

"I don't see why you couldn't have sent us to Uncle Benoit's," Margot said, deciding to echo her sister even though she was the softer of the two. "At least we'd have Cousin Claire to play with."

"Aurore doesn't like to play," Manon said, then eyed her brother with a malicious grin. "All she does is swoon over Honore!"

Honore whacked his sister's shoulder as his face turned red. This only sent Aurelie over the edge as she palmed her face, hoping her shoulders weren't noticeably shaking with the giggle.

"That's enough of that," Enjolras warned, then eyed Honore. "Apologize to your sister."

Honore's lower lip pursed forward as his jaw locked. "If I'm to apologize, I expect one of her."

"I don't see why I have to apologize for a truth!" Manon said smugly, then leaned forward and took a large bite of her eggs with a smirk on her face. "Leandre is a brat, Aurore's in love and Jean would agree with both!"

"It's true," Nico chimed in with a shrug, Jean Pontmercy his exact age and closest friend. On top of that, he found it rather funny how Aurore followed Honore around, and how Honore tried to pretend he didn't know it.

"You see?" Honore cried, his hands flying up in exasperation. "What do I honestly have to apologize for when Manon won't shut her mouth?"

It was at this that Enjolras' palm met his forehead and his fingers wiped his left eye. He looked at the two as his shoulders sagged. "For the love of God, figure it out, the two of you. Honore, be the man I expect you to be, and Manon, stop goading your brother." He then turned to his wife and began to chuckle. "And I'm disappointed in you! Your children are fighting and you sit there and laugh!"

"Oh they're _my_ children when they're fighting, are they?" Aurelie asked.

This sent the table into a fit of silent giggles. Everyone but Honore, who was mortified.

"As if I'd take ownership over this nonsense!" Enjolras cried teasingly. "They're mine when they impress me with their intelligence. Yours when they taunt!"

"Oh, it's so much more fun to be mother's!" Manon sang, now taunting her father.

He sent her a stern glare that he did not mean, which was apparent by the accompanied smile. "Apologize, Manon."

"I'm sorry for telling mother the truth of it," Manon said to Honore.

"I'm sorry you deserved to be smacked," Honore said through his teeth.

Shaking her head, Aurelie let out a sigh. "Alright, that really is enough from the both of you," she said, then straightened her frame. "Your father and I decided last night to get out of Paris for awhile."

This alarmed Honore. He knew what had been taking place, as it had not been exactly hidden from him. While his parents had not told him specifically what they were planning, they'd certainly been more agitated over the past few months when it came to discussing the government, and he was always included in such debates. It was only that he'd overheard what their dinner was for that had him worried.

"Did something happen?" he asked, suddenly alert.

Aurelie narrowed her brows. "No," she said easily with a shrug. "Why would you even think that?"

"We are only taking a trip," Enjolras said, his tone meant to pacify. "Sunday we will all leave for the south for a few weeks so we can spend time together, just our family. We'll be stopping in Foulayronnes—"

He got no further before the twins squealed with glee, but Manon sobered quickly.

"You have to get our dolls back from the Pontmercy's before we consider entering a carriage," she warned her father.

"I promise," Enjolras said endearingly, then took Aurelie's hand in the way a father does as he silently thanks his wife for giving him a magnificent family.

* * *

To Make a Man out of a Boy

After breakfast, Enjolras kept his word to Honore. That they would take a walk to further their discussion. He was determined to listen without getting heated, and the fresh air would assist with this promise, especially now that the seal had been broken; their revolution was finally in the earliest stage, so the stress of the all-important night before had settled.

Before they left, Enjolras wrote out the necessary letters; one to Cremieux to alert him of his plans and, should he like to discuss them, he was welcome for dinner. The other was to be sent by messenger to his parents in Foulayronnes so they could prepare for his family's arrival.

Finding Honore in the drawing room, Enjolras held up his notes. "I need to take these to a messenger," he said. "Come for a walk."

After bidding Aurelie goodbye, the two left the house.

"I suppose we should swing by the Pontmercy's," Enjolras said, once outside in the sun. "Free the dolls from their prison so your sisters will get into the coach come morning."

June was proving to be rather humid, and despite no longer being a man of twenty-two, Enjolras untied his cravat and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. He was not one to abide by expectations of status. Very few people were in the streets, far fewer than everywhere else in Paris. Living in Trocadero, no homeless dare get too close, instead gathering in the slums to the point where they out-populated those living in houses.

"But before we do that," Enjolras began thoughtfully, "let's head over the bridge. I feel it's worth taking you somewhere."

After delivering his letters to a messenger in Bastille, in mostly silence, the father and son crossed the Pont Marie Bridge into Saint-Michel. Another fifteen minutes later, Enjolras stood on rue Saint Martin looking up at the Café Musain.

On June 5th, every year, Enjolras returned. He was here more often than just once a year, as many he defended resided here, those poor generally those unfairly arrested. These cases were taken pro bono; it was the wealthy, generally guilty, who paid his salary. We only mention that a ritual took place once a year where Enjolras came to honor his friends who had perished that fateful night because, though they were a day early, taking his son here for the first time was more powerful than any anniversary visit he had made in Honore's fourteen years.

"You know of the story," Enjolras began as he stood beside Honore with the café, on its odd little triangle corner where the roads forked, directly in front of them. "You've been through Paris and perhaps with your friends you managed to walk this street."

"I've not," Honore stated firmly. He knew better than to enter any of the slums, as they were just too dangerous.

Enjolras' sigh was one of relief and regret. One of preparation, as it was time he shared with his son—who was becoming a man in age, had been a man in mindset for many years—the details that had never been spoken.

"We've talked many times about why," Enjolras said, then glanced at Honore, finding him entranced and taking in every detail of the street. "We've talked about how," he continued. "But you are old enough to live it as I did, and you can ask any questions you like."

Honore did not know where to begin. He was overwhelmed just being on the street where his father had fought against an army, fought for a republic, fought the government. "That is the café?" he asked, gesturing with an open palm at the building before them.

"It is," Enjolras said, his tone flat. He would state all facts to answer all questions without attaching emotion, and he would do so with the honesty Honore deserved. He then lifted his chin as a gesture. "Second floor."

He found himself constantly sending his eyes toward his son, who was soaking it all in.

"That's where you planned."

"There and Les Halles."

"Where was the barricade?"

Enjolras swept both arms out. "Where we are standing," he explained. "From the door on the right to the door on the left. As high as the second floor windows." He then pointed down the street. "We had a smaller one on that side of the café, then another over on the left just before Mondetour Alley."

"Making this café your fortress," Honore said as he painted the scene in his head.

He could see it all before him: a barricade of broken furniture higher than he would have believed, stretching protectively across the expanse of the street, providing cover for his father and his men. And his mother, of course; she had been here too. He imagined his father atop the ferocious looking barricade, silhouetted against the afternoon sun as the battle came to its climax. What a sight, and with a furtive glance at his father, Honore wondered how he had never seen it before; the god-like being inside his father, and, he hoped, inside himself.

Enjolras' nod was simple and straightforward. "The barricades locked us in as our redoubt. The café was where we had our last stand when they fell."

Swallowing, Honore made a point of keeping his posture straight, as he was a man now and it was important to him that he echo his father. This day was markedly important, he knew it and could feel it in his heart and soul.

"Can we go inside?"

Inhaling deeply, this was what Enjolras had feared, while at the same time knowing it was inevitable and something he would have done had Honore not asked for it.

He then smiled, laid a hand on his son's shoulder and said, "I believe it necessary, Honore."

Firmly wetting his lips, Honore looked up at his father and nodded with a soft smile.

As often as he'd been here, Enjolras had not walked into the café, and once inside, he found nothing had changed. Yes, the bricks had been patched, the tables replaced, the staircase rebuilt. One might almost have believed there had been no bloodshed here at all had it not been for the faint, but unmistakable marks that littered the walls beneath the pale paint. Yet it was as much of a tavern for the slums as it had always been. Those with little dined on the little they could afford, those with even less spent every coin they had on alcohol to dim the pain of living.

"Enjolras!" he heard a female voice cry through a breathy surprise, and he turned to find Maryse Huchloup with her hand over her mouth, her eyes widened as though she was beholding a ghost.

She no doubt was. As far as she'd known, Enjolras had died with the rest of them.

"Mam'selle Maryse," Enjolras said, inclining his head with a wide grin. "What a pleasure to find you here."

Having lost all semblance of normalcy, Maryse launched herself toward him, then swept into a low curtsy. "My god," she breathed. "Is it really you?"

"It is," Enjolras said warmly, then placed a hand on Honore's shoulder once more. "Maryse, this is my son, Honore."

"A pleasure!" Maryse said, awestruck, and let out a brief laugh. "Huh! Had he come in here alone I'd have thought he was you! You're married!"

Maryse, unmarried, had always been in love with Enjolras, as had her sister and every other girl their age back in the early 1830's. Her sister had married in 1837 while Maryse made it her duty to take care of their mother, who had passed only a year ago.

"Do you remember Aurelie?" Enjolras asked, his entire being swelling with pride. Maryse nodded, entranced. "We married. Before it all happened, actually, and something that should have been announced to all."

"She was so beautiful," Maryse breathed in fond remembrance of the girl she'd wished she was, now having even more of a reason to venerate the woman than before.

"Still is," Enjolras told her wistfully. "And of you?"

Maryse tilted her head. "The same, as you can no doubt see. Mother passed last year, I've taken over the café, and here we are."

"Here we are," Enjolras repeated sentimentally, remembering the many times Maryse had served their drinks into the wee hours of night. "We're here for an early lunch, I suppose, even though we finished breakfast only two hours ago. I'd like to show Honore around first, if you'll permit it."

"Of course," Maryse said, sweeping her hand out and subconsciously gesturing toward the spiral staircase, as she would have were it fifteen years ago. "This place is as much yours as it is mine, in a way."

Enjolras thanked her and told her they'd find a table after they'd wandered, then ushered Honore to the stairs.

Stepping on the first, Honore imagined he was his father entering such a place on nights more often than not, wondering what it must have been like. As they'd been talking to the mam'selle, he'd found himself prouder than ever to stand beside his father as a man in this café.

Once atop, Enjolras could not put a word on how he felt in this room once more. He was not overwhelmed, but he was not devoid. In a profound way, he felt home. This room held so many memories, the majority of them wonderful and pure, the final macabre and terrifying. It was eerily the same; the billiard table by the front window where maps and diagrams and charts had been placed in preparation, near enough to the window to make full use of the natural light with which to see his plans, but also far enough into the room so that he could still survey all those around him with ease. The bar against the back wall where he'd fill a glass, and no doubt where Grantaire could almost always be found. The large, circular table where his friends would sit like the Knights of the Round Table and beg him to gamble with them. He never understood why they kept asking him, and chuckled fondly. Didn't they realize there was a revolution to be won?

He did not even notice that Honore had brushed by him and now stood in the center of the room, silently taking it all in.

"Shall I tell you about it?" Enjolras asked, his tone empty of emotion, the way he always had been in this room until riled up over an antic or debate.

Honore simply nodded.

Crossing over to a table at the far side of the room, Enjolras placed a palm on it. "It wouldn't be this table, but I sat here the night I met your mother. My friends and I would meet four or five nights a week, and in the beginning we would just talk of history, politics and injustice while we drank." He shrugged with a wistful smile. "Sometimes we'd break into song after enough wine had been consumed. I can't begin to tell you of the debauchery; we were all young men, though I was impossibly stern. Never ended up taken with drink the way they would and never touched a card or a domino."

He patted the table. "But I did sit here when your mother entered the room, and the second I met her eyes, I envisioned you, Honore. I saw a different life than I'd always expected. I saw your mother and your brother and your sisters." Thinking of Aurore and how he'd been enlightened this morning that the sweet girl had developed feelings toward his son, he grinned, perhaps mischievously leading Honore toward exploring his own feelings for his goddaughter. "It doesn't always happen like that. I'd say in most cases you fall for many women along the way. Because I did not, it all hit me as though these missed opportunities had been compounded into one woman. You're very lucky to have a mother like yours."

"I am," Honore agreed, echoing Enjolras' smile, and Enjolras couldn't help but exhale a breathy laugh over their keen resemblance; another mirror of himself.

"This billiard table," Enjolras said, pointing at it as he moved. Once there, he placed both hands on the felt, then circled them. "As we began to plan, you would have found me here hovered over maps. We would pour over them endlessly. Courfeyrac was my right hand, Combeferre my left. Your godfather was around, but he hated me and I hated him. It wasn't until the final few months that he involved himself, and barely even then, as in that final week he had found Cosette."

Completely entranced, Honore found himself picturing his father doing exactly what he'd just described: planning. He'd heard the stories, but he finally had the visual. His mother had told him how fearsome his father had been back then, and how respected and loved at the same time. Honore hoped he would be the same, should his time come to change the world.

"While I did these things, debates took place at every table," Enjolras said, turning and leaning casually against the billiard table as he swept his hands around. His eyes then rested on the round table in the back, and he gestured toward it with his chin. "Those not debating would gamble back there, including your uncle and the man whose name you bear as your middle initial, which is of course why when we write it, we use 'R', as he always did for a Grand-R, signing his name with only the letter."

"The man who saved your life," Honore said reverently.

"Indirectly and intentionally."

It pained Enjolras to think of Grantaire. There were few things he wished he could go back and change, and while the barricade had failed, the barricade itself was not one of them. Regret had long since disappeared once he'd come to terms with his guilt, as it would have happened without him. But his largest regret, second to hiding Aurelie, was the way he had treated Grantaire. Given an opportunity return to 1832, he would have said exactly everything he'd ever told Grantaire, but he would have tacked on the addendum that Grantaire had been loved very much.

"Where did it happen?" Honore asked, finally garnering the courage to voice it.

Enjolras swallowed heavily, walked around the other side of the billiard table with his back toward the wall and window. He held his son's eyes so he would understand the gravity of it all.

"Here," he said levelly, then wet his lips.

Honore did the same.

"You've heard it all before, but not like this," Enjolras finally said after a long moment had passed. "We had chopped up the staircase so it would be difficult for the guardsmen to reach us. In war, there is absolutely nothing to choose from. You do what you must, and it is ugly, and it is horrible. In the world we live in, the only way to progress is to sacrifice, and one day the monster that is fatality will no longer be used, it will be wars with words. I tell you this before I describe the carnage inflicted, as there is not a splinter of pride I feel upon talking about it. Be that as it may, I am not disgusted with myself either for the reason aforementioned: we use our blood to progress, and both sides shed it."

Honore swallowed and nodded.

Enjolras was determined to fully disclose it all; he would not disrespect his child with half-truths. It was important that Honore understood horrors of the past. Though Enjolras was destined to repeat it, it was upon their children to minimize each occurrence until war was no more. Every generation needed to know of the past as to progress in society. Unfortunately it would take another war to get there.

And so it was told. How they had stood above the hole and thrown Aqua Fortis at the guardsmen below until not a bottle was left, mangling them with the acidic fluid. How the guardsmen below had fired through the floorboards until only he was left standing.

"I backed myself here as they scaled," Enjolras said gravely. "I was wild, I was reckless, I was defiant and I was ready to die for what I believed in."

"And Theo was one of them," Honore said under his breath.

"He was," Enjolras said with a firm nod. "There are always good men on both sides of war, you can only blame those who order it. Ask such generals of the National Guard who is wrong and they will tell you we are."

"And Grantaire?"

Enjolras pointed solemnly. "Asleep at a table in the back."

Then he waited. He waited to see if Honore would ask where Aurelie had been, and he could tell by the look on Honore's face that he was thinking about it. The wheels were turning, the thought there, the words at the tip of his tongue. Enjolras kept his eyes on his son, ready to show him where Aurelie had hidden, even though the thought of it still sickened him.

It seems things are sometimes too grave to envision, and Honore did not ask the question.

After a long moment, Enjolras continued. "Grantaire woke up and screamed _vive la republic_. He made his way to me and told them to kill us both. And in that last second, he stepped in front of me."

"Yet you were still shot."

"Some bullets exited his back and entered my chest," Enjolras said flatly. "Others, like the one in my shoulder and that which made the scar on my head were direct."

Again, Enjolras waited. Watched. Wondered if Honore would ask what the true horror of that day had been; that Aurelie had seen it all.

Again, he did not.

So he pressed onward. "Benoit found me and Theo here, and together they saved my life."

Finally, Honore slowly moved. He was lethargic in motion until he reached the window, then pressed his palm against the pane. From above, he could see what it must have looked like below with an enormous barricade, his father on top with a flag and a musket. Had either of them known Aurelie had done just this—palm against the window, an echo of Honore's passive features as she watched everyone perish below—this imagery would not have been repeated.

But it seemed to register inherently in both, father and son able to feel Aurelie, always, and both began to talk at once. Their first words?

From Enjolras: "Your mother . . ."

From Honore: "And mother . . ."

With a deep inhale, Enjolras walked over to his son and stood beside him at the window, looking down at the fork of rue Saint Martin, taking in each dark stain on the cobbles below, each dent that marked the path of a bullet. He finally pointed to the right side from their angle. "Your mother sat behind that pillar there. She was with a girl named Eponine; a tragic story that is worth remembering but not what we are here for. Marius and I knew she was here and she would not leave. And you know what she did."

"She killed a man," Honore said. He could not imagine his mother shooting any man, while at the same time believing she was valiant do so.

Enjolras could not continue to look out the window, so he turned around and leaned against it, folding his arms across his chest. "I want you to envision a little boy fired upon. You're helpless, you cannot shoot back as they hide around a corner and the boy will not return. A boy younger than yourself, and then he falls because a man has walked out and finally taken aim."

"I would kill him," Honore said gravely.

Enjolras could not decide if he was horrified or proud to hear these words.

"You would," he responded in the same tone Honore had used. "There are rules not to be broken, not even in war. You fight your equals. Anything less is murder."

"Then justice was served," Honore said with a firm nod, but then pursed his lips to the side. "Though it seems to me that justice is not enough. When someone kills someone else, we kill them, and fine, well and good, but the first person is still dead and no wrong has been righted. Now two people are dead, the first senseless, the second logical."

There are moments you find your child has become you, perhaps better than you ever were and could ever be, and this was one of them.

"Justice has many synonyms, but perhaps its closest is revenge," Enjolras said thoughtfully. "Society is too afraid to call it such, deciding it is an antonym, as it makes us feel equally as guilty. The word revenge is so negative that we decide it should be unsullied with a word that makes us feel noble. Revenge is criminal, Justice is lawful. He who exacts revenge is cruel, he who serves justice is saintly. Even the words before such are cleaned up; _exacting_ revenge, _serving_ justice, exacting so harsh, serving so smooth off the tongue. It is a shame both words were created, but until humankind ceases to kill, both justice and revenge are vernacular of the human race. And both will always be a necessity."

Honore thought for a long time while Enjolras continued to study him. It was clear to Enjolras that he was trying to soak everything in, and that it was overwhelming to be standing here in the very place it had all happened. As Enjolras had not entered this room in fifteen years, it was a lot even for him.

A minute passed. Maybe longer. And when Honore's mouth popped open and no sound exited, Enjolras raised his brows to let him know he could ask anything he wanted.

He said simply: "Where was mother?"

It had finally been asked, and in a strange way, Enjolras felt relief along with his unease. Nothing about today was meant to be easy, and that day was far from it, so perhaps he should be feeling anguish.

"From what she told me," he whispered, then swallowed heavily. "She hid in that closet beside the bar."

"And you really did not know?"

Enjolras shook his head. "Had I known, my behavior would have been dramatically different."

"What would have changed?"

Feeling as though a brick had hit him, Enjolras winced over these words. But as he'd promised to answer every question, he thought it through for a moment.

"I suppose I would have been viewed as a coward from afar," Enjolras said contemplatively. He thought some more, and as he altered his memory of June 6th to a picture with Aurelie across the room, he felt a stabbing sensation in his heart. "I would have screamed for her to run. I might have fought to reach her. I would have been frantic, which would have been braver than I was while taking my last stand. We think men who scream as they're about to die cowardly, but we have not weighed their loss appropriately. That day I could not even weigh mine. It is easy to die, Honore. It's how your death affects others that must be taken into consideration."

Honore shook his head. "I believe you were brave," he said determinedly.

"Only because I survived," Enjolras told him. "But yes, I was brave throughout. Braver still that your mother was there, which gave me more of a reason to fight. And you, of course, giving me a reason to live. I only contend that my bravery was misdirected."

Taking one last lingering look around, every memory Enjolras had ever had here was put away. It was good he'd come back, and judging by Honore, his son needed this. It was strange; Honore had grown up today in Enjolras' eyes. He was now looking upon his son as a young man instead of a boy. Just being here had affected them both.

"Let's get some lunch below," Enjolras said with a smile, gesturing toward the stairs. He began to walk, but Honore's voice stopped him just as he was about to step down.

"I thought a lot about what you said yesterday morning," Honore said. "I understand now why I should not have brought up the barricades."

Enjolras turned around, intensely eying his son. "And what did you decide?" he asked in a severe tone.

"You're planning another one," Honore said, and though it was a statement, he felt the fear inside and sincerely hoped his father was not noticing it. To show his resolve, he tossed his shoulders back and shook his blond hair from his forehead. "I know what that dinner was last night, and I know mother is planning it with you. I have a question for you, however."

"And what is that?" Enjolras asked with a clever brow.

"Does she want to?"

Enjolras turned white. But he wet his lips, letting it dangle in the air for a moment.

"She believes firmly in it," he said. "She wants to fight and she wants to be by my side." He then gently closed his lids. "And it affects her deeply."

Honore finally understood why he'd seen his mother turn away yesterday morning. And though he held his father's eyes to prove that he was unaffected, Honore felt a fear strike him, the first in his life. Just like his mother, it affected him deeply.

* * *

_As a general rule, I avoid Author's Notes in the middle of a story, though I'm not sure why. But I believe it important to give credit where credit is due, and I know what I lack. It was a writer named Pica Britanica who has completed the 10% of my writing brain that has always been missing, and I'd like to thank her sincerely for the suggestions she gave as my beta reader. Her story, Between Heaven and Earth, is rather phenomenal, so if you'd take the time to check her out, you will not regret it for a moment._

_Beyond that, I've had an amazing beta named Catalyst, who is not a writer yet on this website, but I must thank her as well for accompanying me on this journey, as her notes have been amazing. _


	4. Book Three: Lives Left Behind

**BOOK THREE: **

**Lives Left Behind**

* * *

Contrast of the Old and the Young

It was Foulayronnes journeyed to first, and it took nine days to arrive by carriage. Normally such a venture would have taken less than half that, but they made plenty of stops and spent an entire day in Limoges. There, Enjolras purchased two silver necklaces with the traditional Limoges blue glasswork the city had become so famous for. These were given to his daughters, and as they approached the house he had grown up in, both were wearing the pendants proudly.

The house was indeed a mansion, though not on any sort of estate. Where Aurelie's childhood home was grand, Enjolras', by comparison, would have been called a humble abode. This was the difference between those with title and those with wealth, though a title was certainly part and parcel with a fortune.

None the less, the house was impressive. Built in the early 1700's, it was constructed of chiseled stone the color of ash, with roofing that rose into tall peaks above the second floor. The many chimneys were well-spaced, a sign of large rooms and the necessity to warm such with many fires in the winter. While the front of the house had a multitude of windows, the sides and rear held few to stem off both the heat and the cold; stone serving as cool insulation. Their choice of landscape was to echo the Palace of Versailles on a far smaller scale; symmetric patterns of green throughout the expanse of the grounds. They resided in the outskirts, just as the city gave way to farmland, which offered them enough space between neighbors without having too large an area to care for.

Their household retained many servants on their payroll; enough that the carriage was met just as it stopped at the front door. A tall, boney man with ebony hair held his hand out to assist the family from their transport. Arrangements had been made ahead of time for the driver's lodging in the servant's quarters, and while Enjolras and his family were escorted to the door, the driver and two footmen began to remove the family's suitcases from the top of the coach.

Once through the door, Aurelie could not capture the necks of her twins as they launched themselves into the sitting room, where the elder Enjolras' stood in front of the fireplace. Proper as they may be, however, the Madame began to beam before she too could not control the urge.

"Oh, my darlings!" she cried, hunching down and holding her arms out for a large embrace.

Aurelie and Enjolras hovered near the door with serene smiles upon their lips; their children of course the sole focus for now, as grandchildren should be.

"My, Nico! How you've grown! Those trousers barely fit you!" Monsieur Enjolras said, clapping the middle child on the back. Nico, of course, smiled widely at this. He'd felt for too long that he hovered in his brother's shadow, as his frame had been tiny from birth. The pleasure of knowing he was growing into his age was sensational, and he was immensely proud his grandfather had taken notice.

"Honore," Madame Enjolras said through her breath. She leaned back, studying him with a clever brow as she shook her head. "I'd swear it was twenty years ago as I look at you. How strange it is to feel as though I'm looking at a painting of Alexandre when he was your age."

It was Honore's greatest pride to be compared to his father, and many did, directly or unintentionally. His smug smile as his grandmother said this was one of the few times Honore could not control his features, as it made him too content to contain.

Aurelie finally locked eyes with the matron and a wistful smile crossed both of their lips.

"Aurelie, you beautiful, beautiful girl," Madame Enjolras said as she crossed the room, her soft features beaming at her daughter-in-law. One would never know the woman was sixty, as few wrinkles were noticed on her porcelain skin.

Leaning in to kiss her mother-in law, Aurelie said, "You look well, Odile. Thank you for taking us in on such short notice."

"Nonsense!" Odile said, waving her left hand in the air to assure Aurelie it was unthinkable. "A chance to see my grandchildren? To think that would ever be a burden. And my son! Alexandre, you shine with your family at your side, don't ever visit me without them."

"Mother," Enjolras said humbly, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

Monsieur Enjolras walked staunchly toward Aurelie and Enjolras. Despite the gut he had acquired in these late years, he was small boned, just like his son. His hair had grayed, but he had not gone bald, so Aurelie had that in her favor. Juxtaposing his sweet wife, Raimund was strict and stern, very much the way Enjolras had been before Aurelie had softened his heart. But the parallel was drawn; Raimund expected greatness from his son, which he had achieved, just as Enjolras expected greatness from Honore and, in turn, Nico, once the boy had matured. The only difference was that Enjolras would play with his children whereas his father had never played with him.

But his grandchildren seemed to be the exception, and while he always appeared awkward in his kindness and warmth toward them, it was genuine. The Enjolras children softened the man where his son hadn't.

"Alexandre," Raimund said, inclining his head properly. "I'm pleased you decided to pay us a visit."

His demeanor subdued, as it always was around his father, Enjolras responded with a bland raise of a brow: "It's good to see you too, father."

Always understanding the tension between her son and husband, Odile smiled warmly. "We'll have supper in an hour. Let's get you settled in. Filibert and Mathieu no doubt have your belongings in your rooms by now. Take the blue room with the bathroom, and the two yellow rooms are already made for the children."

"Thank you, Odile," Aurelie said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. "It'll be nice to have a change of clothes."

Once the children were wrangled, they made their way up the long, polished staircase and settled their offspring; Aurelie with the twins, Enjolras with the boys, instructing them to wash and change before dinner.

"I can already feel the need for an escape to Ager," Enjolras said once he'd shut the door behind him. He shook his head, then looked around the room that had once been his, but had been completely redecorated days after he'd moved to Paris. The walls were cerulean, gilt-framed paintings as decor; his mother a collector of artwork and a hobbyist painter.

Already digging through her suitcase, Aurelie looked up at her husband. "Don't be ridiculous. We'll have a marvelous time over the next few days. Soak in your mother's sweetness and ignore your father's sternness. It's not as though you don't know him, so no offense should be taken. Besides, he's softened by our children."

"Just wait until we're alone with him tonight," Enjolras warned, finally walking over to his case to find fresh clothes. "He's never forgiven me for 1832 and he won't forgive me for this. Bonapartist through and through, that man."

Aurelie shrugged. "But they need to know since they're written into our will and testament," she said easily, an attempt to remain calm and cool so her attitude would be soaked in rather than adding to his incitement. "Understand that this is necessary for our children, not for you. Marius, Benoit, Theo; they'll all be with us, and while we have the kids going to Benoit after their godparents, it is your parents who are third and I'd like their permission for it."

There was a rap on the door, and Aurelie called out that the visitor was free to enter. One of the maids carried an enormous pitcher of water and bowed her head. "For you to wash up," she said, then crossed the room toward the bathroom and emptied it into a porcelain bowl. Her exit was hasty with eyes cast upon the floor.

Enjolras eyed Aurelie with a dull look. "Even their staff fears them."

With a laugh, Aurelie simply shrugged and walked into the bathroom to clean herself before supper.

Raimund sat at the head of the table, flanked by Odile and Enjolras. Following this pattern, the women were on one side, the men at the other for an extravagant dinner that marked the special occasion that was their arrival; an eight course meal with two courses of meat, partridge and beef roast, along with a yellowfin tuna that was sublime.

While children in this time were meant to be seen and not heard at such fancy occasions, this had never worked in the Enjolras household even when Enjolras himself had been a child at this very table. Though Raimund directed his questions at Enjolras and Aurelie, a proper gentleman of wealth and tradition, Odile made a point of asking the kids about their journey, and the children then regaled the table with tales of their schooling and free summer. Honore was the only one of the four who maintained proper posture and manners, always set on proving himself as a man instead of a child, and as a result, Raimund may have laughed along with Nico, Manon and Margot, but he was most interested in Honore.

It was also common in these days for the men and women to separate after a meal; the women retreating to a sitting room while the men stayed around the table to discuss things they didn't deem the women worthy of hearing, or thought may upset their delicate natures. Politics, laws, economy, even more violent things such as hunting and war.

Enjolras would have none of this as a general rule, unless it was deemed necessary with men of title and wealth at his own house, and only because he felt these other men's wives couldn't handle such talks, not because of Aurelie.

So when the suggestion that they take their walk was uttered from Odile, Enjolras rose first. "We all should," he said. "I could use a glass of brandy and the children are tired. Aurelie and I will see them up and then meet you in the sitting room."

He then gestured with his head at his family, and they politely rose, thanking the elder Enjolras' for the meal, then paraded from the dining room together.

Aurelie saw to it that the girls were changed and their clothes were folded so they would not wrinkle. After kissing their foreheads once they were in bed, she left the room.

She did not know that the moment she had shut the door, Manon relit the lantern and the girls began to play, but that is neither here nor there.

Enjolras told his sons the second they were in their room, "Tomorrow night, I promise the both of you can join us after dinner. You are both grown enough to do so, but tonight I believe it's best your mother and I follow what is proper. Ease them in, all right?"

He did not know that the moment he had shut the door, Honore said to Nico, "In ten minutes, I'll be sneaking down the stairs. Follow if you wish."

* * *

The Republican and the Bonapartist

After pouring a glass of brandy for his son, a glass of wine for each of the women, Raimund sat down in his leather armchair; no other seat in the beige room had felt his weight. Opening the little wooden box on the table beside the chair, he withdrew a cigar, then asked of Enjolras, "Care for one?"

"Not tonight," Enjolras said, and what he meant was _not ever_, though what he meant just now was _not in front of Aurelie_, as he figured that if he ended up alone with his father at any point, he should echo him for civility.

"You're missing out," Raimund responded, lighting his own with a match. He puffed it a few times. "Sent to me by a friend in the States. They import them from Cuba."

"Indeed," Enjolras said, and what he meant was _I'm not interested,_ though what he meant just now was _how progressive of you, father_, as his father generally criticized what he called the radical thinking of the United States.

Odile smiled delightedly. "Alexandre said the two of you are planning to head to Ager?"

"We thought it might be nice to spend a bit of vacation on our own," Aurelie said pleasantly.

Noticing that Aurelie was juxtaposing his sour attitude, Enjolras sighed, making a firm decision to pull himself together, at least for appearance's sake. Thus, he flipped a switch and smiled at his mother, knowing there would be plenty of feigned pleasantries in due time, and it was unreasonable to sully the good before the bad.

"I hope you don't mind that I assumed it wouldn't put you out," Enjolras told his mother with endearment that was not feigned. "You were rather angry last year when I didn't bring the family."

"Oh, I was!" Odile cried with a laugh. "And we think it's lovely that we'll have the opportunity to take the children for a few days, don't we dear?"

Raimund, a man who was nearly impossible to evoke emotions from, smiled at his wife and Aurelie. "We were both delighted when it was suggested."

"You see?" Odile said, having rarely seen her husband this happy, going to show exactly how much her grandchildren meant to the both of them. She gestured to her husband. "The second he read of your plans he was coming up with ideas of how to spoil them."

Aurelie laughed, bringing a hand to her chest in delectation. "Spoil away," she assured Raimund. "They adore the both of you, and we can't get away with it as their parents, lest they take advantage of us."

Nodding firmly, Enjolras took a gulp of his brandy and shook his head in mocked annoyance. "They're certainly coming into their own, and be warned: their charm can manipulate you if you're not careful. It's astounding to me how much they're like their mother!"

"Me?" Aurelie cried, her laugh louder and playfully aghast. Enjolras' grin was wicked and amused. "I've no clue how you get these ideas in your head. Odile, kindly remind your son that he is the very last person who should speak of manipulating with charm."

"Such a strong word," Enjolras breathed teasingly, swilling his glass and raising a clever brow at his wife.

Odile chuckled as the all-knowing mother of such a man. "Or not strong enough."

"You see?" Aurelie said. "This is why your mother and I get along so well. We both know you in a way no one else ever could, so enough pinning their antics on me."

Through this, Raimund was smiling, however small. "I'll admit that Honore has me impressed. It's nice to hear him speak as an equal instead of a child. He'll be a fine man, as will Nico. You've tamed yourself, Alex. Of course you'd have to with a family."

With her eyes, Aurelie warned Enjolras to keep his mouth shut, and just in time; Enjolras' lips had slightly parted to respond, but he shut them with her look and inhaled deeply to find some repose.

But he did view his father's intentional jab as a transition, albeit earlier than he would have liked.

"While it's not the reason we came, I've brought some papers for you to look over," Enjolras said.

Aurelie tried to hide her sigh, but failed, and she turned her glance to the side, mentally preparing herself. She also took a large drink of her wine to assist in such preparation, hoping the alcohol would ease the internal tension.

Interest piqued, Raimund leaned forward in earnest. Business discussions always engrossed him, as did the law. He knew not which his son was bringing him, but it didn't matter. Either would keep him entertained.

But there was a heavy silence that followed until Aurelie finally looked Enjolras sternly in the eyes before she spoke up, and it had to take every ounce of effort for her to do so.

"Alex and I realized that should anything ever happen to us, arrangements need to be made for our family," she explained carefully, judging the atmosphere of the room with each word that exited her mouth.

"Very wise of you," Odile said, features drawn in seriousness and speculation. "But what does this have to do with us, if you don't mind me asking? Their godparents are the Pontmercy's, correct?

Unfairly, Enjolras was placing the burden of this conversation on Aurelie in hopes of keeping it civil, and she knew it, and she knew why, and she was not happy about it.

"They are," Aurelie said, carrying no tone whatsoever. "But for any sort of worst case scenario, it is best to have other plans in place. France has too many orphans from such worst cases, and we felt it necessary to take things a step further for assurances sake."

Peering at his son, Raimund studied Enjolras instead of Aurelie. "So they would come to us if the Pontmercy's are unable to take them?" he asked, not once allowing his clever gaze to wander.

"Because their home is Paris, they would go to my brother," Aurelie explained delicately, for she did not want them to think they were a last choice. They were, in fact, possibly the only chance her children would have, should this end badly.

Enjolras shook his head with an exasperated sigh. "Pontmercy's, Beaulieu's, then you," he stated, his tone austere. "They've grown up in Paris or it would be the other way around."

"Yes," Aurelie agreed hastily, and she meant it. While Marius and Cosette would be excellent parents, they had children of their own to care for. She viewed godparents more as guides than caregivers. "And we defer to them if they choose to send them to you instead—"

"Specifically, Marius Pontmercy is our executor of estate," Enjolras said calmly. "We have entrusted him to use his judgment, and he will follow the order we've determined."

"We are third," Raimund said under his breath.

Odile spoke up, her face reddened in embarrassment. "Oh, it does not matter that we're third!" she cried with a smile. "Of course we agree with this, just—"

"It's not the placement," Raimund said, his tone dull. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his knees, his gaze sharper than before. "Alexandre, why are you doing this now?"

She'd known it would come to this, and the sigh Aurelie made was one of defeat as she leaned back and positioned her arm on the rest of the sofa, then limply laid her chin upon the palm as she eyed Enjolras, her look clearly reading: _Have at it. _

"With the fragility of Paris, this should have been done long ago," Enjolras said, then rose from the chair and walked over to the fireplace.

His father, without a doubt, had read between the lines, and Enjolras was keenly aware of it. Thus he prepared himself mentally for the discussion by rapping his knuckles twice on the mantle as he waited for his father to place the pieces together.

"It seems to me that most who write a will name the godparents or the grandparents, but never have such foresight as to a second or third party," Raimund said, his tone still bland. Aurelie was limp in pose and noted listlessly that the two sounded so very much alike before tensions had risen in a discussion: statements of facts, no emotion whatsoever.

"I'll agree," Enjolras said. "Most don't have the foresight to name three caregivers. With the first two residing in Paris, we obviously wish them to stay in the city. That being said, should the city end up in conflict and the men of these families injured or worse, we require a place outside the limits so they will be safe."

Aurelie noticed how tensed Odile had become as her gaze fired rapidly between the two men, and she knew Odile still thought this was about them being the third choice and not Raimund's shrewd sense of what was really happening. For a fleeting moment, Aurelie thought she should step in to assure Odile that this, again, was not about a third choice; they would have been the first if they lived in Paris. But that was not where the argument was headed, Odile would find that out soon enough, and while Aurelie figured she should escort Odile from the room, she certainly wasn't about to leave as things heated. And so she returned to her apathy until she would have to step up and begin to care.

Rising from his chair, Raimund walked over to the bar and refilled his snifter. With his back toward the room, he asked, "Is Paris about to enter a conflict?"

The corner of Aurelie's mouth twitched up as she eyed her husband daringly, though he did not look at her. She felt almost amused by the pair, and if it was not such a grave discussion—if it was not so volatile—she might have chuckled. But the discussion was macabre and about to explode, so really there was no amusement to be had.

"Paris is always about to enter a conflict," Enjolras stated, as he was anything but a liar. "Any given day something somewhere erupts. Ask the masons from the lodge in the rue de Grenelle-Saint-Honore if they have ever boiled down since 1830 and they will tell you that the kettle still sings. Just weeks ago a riot broke out in the textile factories, before that it was in Austerlitz with the workers at the paper mill. Those on rue de la Mortellerie will regale you with the eight times they've raised a barricade since 1827. Tuileries has seen a barricade on every street and alley. Take a tour of such alleys and you will still find the rubble and cobblestones, as Paris has no time to clean up before the next. Rue Saint Denis now holds more citizens without a home than citizens in one, and such dwellings are so overcrowded I couldn't tell you how they have enough floor to stand upon should all the residents decide to enter the apartments at the same time. Refugees from conflicts in surrounding countries as far north as Poland search solace in Paris, arriving on any day to a brawl simply for being foreigners. I'd tell you to walk by the Marche-aux-Fleurs fountain to listen to the rallies, but they have hushed to whispers and the passing of illegal pamphlets from palm to palm now that public assembly has been banned. You call it conflict, I call it the brink of revolution, as conflicts are the daily repercussion of living in such a city in such a time. Our triptych; _liberte, egalite, fraternite_ is muttered with secret handshakes. Our cens tax is one hundred francs, so I'd ask of you who ends up favored in our laws, as it is not those disenfranchised, when such men make up the population of this country. And I would follow asking you which men have the largest reason to rise for equality, for they out-populate those in power, and I include myself in that category, as I have a vote, yet still find no power whilst voting against the financial bourgeois."

Raimund had turned around in the middle of Enjolras' tirade, and when it was complete, the elder took a sip of his brandy.

"Have you finished?" he asked.

Enjolras exhaled a low chuckle. "I haven't even begun."

Aurelie's hooded eyelids began to flutter against a roll of her eyes.

"I wish you had gone with cholera, Alex," Raimund mused. "I could accept cholera as a reason three young men may be taken early from their families."

The shrug Enjolras gave was flippant. "Why lie when you'll find out soon enough?" he said mildly, and eyed his father with an air of disdain. "It won't be long before the newspapers thicken, and even then it will not be covering the full story. Stack the independent papers on top of the Nationale for the whole of it, and you'll find yourself staring at an entire tree."

"Aurelie, would you like to join me in the drawing room?" Odile asked desperately, already in motion out of her chair.

Muscles still lax, you would assume Aurelie was bored with the display. And in a way she was; this was exactly as she'd predicted, and this sort of conflict between Raimund and Enjolras was unavoidable whenever they were under the same roof. The only difference was this was an argument over action instead of hypothesis, which differentiated her boredom and transitioned it into a passive surrender.

"Aurelie stays, mother," Enjolras said firmly.

"Do not speak for me," Aurelie said, the opposite of firm. The words exited in an aghast chuckle, followed by a sigh. She rose from the couch and crossed the room to stand by her husband. "No, Odile. I'll not insult you by suggesting you retire, but I am staying here because I stand beside him."

The corner of Enjolras' mouth twitched in pride, furthering his determination with Aurelie at his side. It did not turn into a smile, as he was too indignant to feel glad for any reason, but his heart always swelled when she backed him and he'd feel the proof of it in his lips even though those around him could not see the infinitesimal flutter of facial muscles.

"This is preposterous," Raimund railed, now enraged by the sight of seeing Aurelie willingly supporting his son and advocating a revolution. "You are honestly encouraging him to rise against our sovereign the king?"

Aurelie tossed her shoulders back.

"Your sovereign, the king," she stated stolidly, emphasizing the ownership.

Odile blanched and, in a daze, she rose from her chair. "Yes, I believe I'll bid you good night," she said, her gaze in the unfocused nether. "Breakfast will be served at eight. Sleep well."

With that, the weakened woman exited the room.

Raimund stared at his glass with a cruel grin, swilled it twice.

"I always knew you were a problem," Raimund said quietly. Enjolras was stunned to stupidity as his father looked at his wife and shook his head. "You are too fiery to be a good wife, instead riling up your husband to commit treason."

Outraged, Enjolras positioned himself in front of Aurelie protectively. "You dare say such a thing again and I will walk from this house never to return."

Aurelie, however, kept a cool head, and placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. "It's fine, my love," she said with a placating tone. "Raimund, I assure you such a thing will not happen. We should speak freely. Perhaps I am a problem, as I am not mild nor meek, not shallow nor naïve. If it is a problem for a woman to be analytical and political, then I am glad to call myself a problem. Our country needs problems, for if all men were meek and mild, this nation would get away with murdering its own citizens, which I believe is done both directly and indirectly. Ignoring the plights of the poor is tantamount to murder and it should stand trial, the public serving as jury and, if necessary, executioner."

"It is not the place of a woman to involve herself in politics," Raimund challenged.

"Have yourself a daughter and say the same," Aurelie responded.

"Don't be foolish," Raimund said, then cast his eyes on his son. "I'd keep my daughter as far away from this garbage as possible, as should you. Our job as men is to protect our women from such dangers!"

Enjolras blew out a huff of air through lax cheeks. "I protect them fiercely," he said. His inhale was one of anger at himself, however. It was all too reminiscent of his failures in 1832. Yes, he had protected Aurelie, as much as she would allow anyways, but he had not abided to his duty as a man with a family. And there was suddenly a nagging voice that told him he was not abiding to it now. Nonetheless, Enjolras was a man who could rally quickly, and he continued. "Despite what should be, my family is an echo of myself. I chose a woman who was my equal, if not a far better man than I, as anything less could not even begin to interest me. It is her who has kept me alive, for without her and our children I would already be dead from some battle at any of the eight barricades in the last fifteen years."

"And so this is your plan, then?" Raimund said through his teeth. "You are raising barricades together?"

Eying him levelly and through low brows, Enjolras said, "We are."

Aurelie shuddered involuntarily. She'd known, but it had not been said. Not once had they acknowledged their end game, they had only spoken with abstract value; the umbrella of the word 'revolution' all-encompassing a fight, but it had willfully gone without any sort of design in Aurelie's eyes. Banquets were a step, Aurelie had refused to look beyond them, instead recognizing she may die and planning for such an event, but refusing to paint the picture of how.

Raimund paced back and forth, twice. His face was ruddy, his fingers on his left hand rapidly opening and closing from splayed to fists. In his right, the glass quaked.

"Marius Pontmercy," he muttered under his breath, then eyed Aurelie. "Your brother, the Baron Beaulieu—" this said with such distaste that a man of title would take part of such a thing "—will fight at your side. And where will you be, Aurelie?"

It was hard to swallow through the prominent lump in her throat, and Aurelie steadied herself as she tried to work her saliva down.

"Atop a barricade with a musket."

Because the word barricade had not been uttered by either, hearing Aurelie say this weakened Enjolras. He too had not yet designed the inevitable future day when barricades would be constructed throughout Paris, allowing the word 'revolution' to remain nondescript. Perhaps he had romanticized her involvement to what they'd once thought it would be; an image of them hand in hand against the government. It was a lovely picture, but a horrifying reality should it come to fruition.

"And this is why you fear for your children's future," Raimund spat. "If you lose, you will all go, hence the necessity for a third to take them in."

Repose was hard to grasp.

"Correct," Enjolras said, despite the cliff he was teetering upon.

Raimund finally stopped pacing and pointed firmly at the ground. "I will not allow it!" he screamed. "I will not walk through Pere Lachaise searching for the dead bodies of my son and daughter-in-law!"

And it dawned on Enjolras. Suddenly he was overwhelmed. This was not the first time his father had yelled at him; he'd had plenty of moments growing up where his father would turn red and use this booming voice that would echo through the house. His father was a strict, stern man who had expected Enjolras to follow in his footsteps, and while Enjolras had indeed become a lawyer, he had also been molded into a republican, a far stretch from his bonapartist patriarch. Because of this, even as an adult his father would become so riled by their discussions that he would yell, and Enjolras would simply laugh because anytime a person had lost their end of a debate, they would become flustered, masking it with anger. Not once in Enjolras' life had his father told him he was proud of him. Enjolras would become acutely aware of his father's displeasure when he made a mistake, it was when he achieved perfection that he would be met with silence, and in this silence he would know he had done well. This was different.

This was the first time in his life he realized that his father loved him.

He was suddenly touched, despite how macabre it was.

"Father," Enjolras said quietly, then took a step forward with his hands out in the way one assures another they're not dangerous. "It will not come to that. Not this time. We are older and wiser. We are no longer reckless. We are only planning for the worst possible outcome, a necessity of fatality regardless of any sort of uprising." He then gestured to his father's brown leather chair. "Will you please sit? Aurelie and I will tell you why this is different."

The elder Enjolras heaved in a deep breath, turned to the brandy and filled his glass to the brim, then held the bottle up as a peace offering. Enjolras joined his side, allowed his father to fill his glass, then refilled Aurelie's wine.

As the couple sat down on the sofa directly across from the patriarch, Raimund opened his cigar case, retrieving one.

Enjolras smiled, leaning forward and holding out his hand.

"I think I'll join you this time."

* * *

A Home is not a Home Without Family

After four days spent alone in Ager, Aurelie and Enjolras returned to Foulayronnes to find their children had indeed been spoiled rotten. His parents had taken them to a market where they enjoyed a travelling show of puppets, were each purchased gifts of their choosing from the merchants, fed sweets until dinner and played games with the elders into the night. They had spent the second day at a park, the third Odile had taught the girls to knit while Raimund taught the boys to carve. On the fourth, the children were given canvases to paint upon and Raimund had read stories while they worked.

No one wanted to leave, not even Enjolras. The night they had fought had ended hours later as Enjolras explained why this showed so much promise; the bourgeois were in it this time, which proved exactly how high tensions had risen in the capitol. Raimund actually listened, though debated the laws and politics he took issue with, as he remained steadfast as a royalist bonapartist. As with every debate, tempers would flare, but they settled quickly and the night had ended on good terms. Raimund had said before they retired: "Though we disagree on nearly everything, if this is the path our country must travel, it is worth finding out its destination." He had then added with a hand on his son's shoulder: "Such an argument is inevitable with us, but know this: if any man should lead the way, I see no one more fit to steer the vessel."

Aurelie did not make it to her room without tears streaming down her cheeks. Enjolras managed to, but the second he was in the door, he embraced her and they fell freely.

Lavaur proved to be a melancholy affair. They had been welcomed as guests by the Viscount Louis de Vimeur in Aurelie's childhood home; a warm man of sixty years who had been given her family's estate after it had been ripped from her father. His son, Pierre-Rene, had once been presented to Aurelie when she was but seventeen, and the two took a nice long walk through the estate's gardens the afternoon of their arrival to talk of such days while Enjolras entertained his wife, Catherine.

"Ah, beautiful Aurelie," Pierre-Rene said through a sigh of endearment after Aurelie had finished telling him of her children, having been walking for over a half hour. He turned to face her and placed both hands on her arms, then brushed them down as he looked her over. "It pleases me greatly to see that you are so happy. My memory of you is one of beauty, yet I see you again and am still stunned by how you shine."

"You shine quite well yourself," Aurelie said, admiring the handsome man.

Pierre-Rene rose a full head taller than she, and atop were straight wisps of black hair that held a few silvers, though had receded not one bit. He was the life she would have had, as Pierre-Rene had been the closest any of her suitors had come to a promise of union by their parents. He was the only one of the many paraded around that she had felt she would have been happy with, that she could have perhaps grown to love, but still, in their many visits over the course of six months, she had not once felt he was who she was destined to be with. And she had been right.

His laugh was exactly as she remembered as well; joyous and infectious. "I am a content man, and I have a wonderful family. When your father declined me permission to marry you, I thought myself quite broken, you know. It took four years of meeting families with title to find a wife, as I'd have none of them. Poor Catherine! Initially I just settled, but I've grown to truly love her."

"She's magnificent, from what I can tell," Aurelie said, though they had only talked as a group for an hour after their initial arrival, and most of the discussion had been led by the viscount. "I'm looking forward to getting to know her over dinner."

"Your husband seems like a fine man," Pierre-Rene said. "Very handsome," he added with a chuckle, then touched her arm once more as concern crossed his features. "Assure me he takes good care of you, Aurelie, as I cannot stand the thought of you ever unhappy for even just one minute of your life."

A long moment passed between the two; Pierre-Rene's eyes searching hers urgently, Aurelie reflecting on the image that could have been. Had she not felt her compass pointing north, perhaps this handsome man would have been the father of her children and she would once again live in this house, the wife of a viscount, and a pensive smile crossed her features.

She wanted none of it.

Wetting her lips, Aurelie leaned in and gently kissed Pierre-Rene's cheek. "You are very sweet," she said, looking into his deep chocolate colored eyes. "You're a wonderful man, and I would have been very happy with you, Pierre. When you have some time alone with him, your concern will be quelled and you will understand why you and I did not marry. You will fall in love with him as I did."

Chin in neck, a quick tilt of the head, Pierre raised a brow as he smiled. "That takes care of that," he said, blinking twice. "I'm glad to hear I won't stand trial for injuring a man anytime soon." He then held his arm out. "To the arbors?"

Sliding her hand in the nook, Aurelie's grin showed off her magnificent white teeth. "To the arbors!" she cried as a general would command a troop. And off they marched.

That evening, Aurelie kept an eye on Enjolras and Pierre-Rene while talking to Catherine, and she could not help but swell with pride and love upon seeing how Pierre's eyes would sparkle as Enjolras spoke; how Pierre would consistently inch forward on the red velvet chair in earnest as they talked, and how he would laugh animatedly with his head tossed back over whatever her husband was saying. And at one point, a moment passed between Pierre-Rene and Aurelie, Pierre saying clearly: _You were correct, he rightfully won, I'm happy for you._

Aurelie was thrilled her children were able to play in the gardens with the youngest Vimeurs, and she spent an afternoon showing Enjolras around the massive landscape, sharing stories in certain locations:

Beneath a large oak tree in the northern corner of the land, so large its arms stretched up to the sky and provided enough shade to fully engulf the area on a hot summer day, Aurelie said: "I was so often presented with suitors that when my family left us alone, I would find a reason to excuse myself. I'd run here with a book, leaving the poor sap by himself. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that search parties would be organized when I wouldn't show up for dinner, too enthralled in literature than in these men."

Enjolras had responded: "I pity them; they were no doubt left shattered by you, and I benefitted from their loss."

In a maze of roses that had not seen much pruning, gnarled in twists on trellises that created a hex pattern if viewed from above, Aurelie said: "My mother would have hated to see these roses untended, for before her death, we would work this garden together. She taught me how to prune them, the meticulous work necessary for them to thrive, and once said: _A rose is like a child; if you care for it properly, it will blossom into beauty_."

Enjolras had responded: "And the rose did not just blossom into beauty, it achieved God's perfection."

At a large fountain in the courtyard, Aurelie sat down on the edge and let her fingers dance along the surface of the water, reveling in the ripples she could create against the tension of flow. She said: "Benoit pushed me in here when I was eleven after I embarrassed him. He had been walking home with a girl his age and I had taunted them, dancing in front of the pair and mocking their blossoming love. The poor girl ran off long before our gate, and in front of this fountain, I had said: _Brother, you'll never have such a swan, you'll be lucky to have a crow._ He grew red, said something of how I'd be better off learning how a swan lives, as he was too outraged for me to distinguish the words, then shoved me over the edge."

Enjolras had responded: "I believe he was right. The water must have baptized you as such, as that is exactly what you are."

In the stables, Aurelie relished in the air that smelled of stale hay and manure, as it was a smell of her childhood. Placing a hand on the deteriorated wooden posts that were long overdue for replacement, she said: "I would have my horse saddled by a stable boy named Gilles, and rode more often during his tenure because I found him sublime to look upon. He was twenty when I was fifteen, and one afternoon when I'd returned from a ride, I kissed him. He was so surprised that he stumbled backwards and, subsequently, over the gate there. He ended up covered in manure and I ran off, leaving him in this horrible sludge. I have no idea what became of him, as the following day he had turned in his resignation."

Enjolras had responded: "He likely thought you unobtainable. Now let me give you a more powerful memory so the next time we are here, you can share the story of today instead of one with a stable boy."

Taking Enjolras to the top of a great rise, an unnatural looking mound on the property, Aurelie gazed down upon the small town and admired how it had grown. She said: "The romantic in me would climb up this hill so I could feel the wind whipping through my hair and blowing my dress. I loved how I could see the land and I felt as though I was queen of the world. I imagined what I would look like in a painting here, obviously quite vain now that I think about it."

Enjolras had responded: "You were quite right, though no artist could paint the beauty I see before me atop this hill. Because it would pale in comparison, the image now would be spoiled. I prefer to retain it in my memory."

At a table just outside the banquet hall, Aurelie sat down and placed her palms on the wrought iron, feeling the grooves of the filigreed metal. She said: "My father taught me of the world here. He would recite quotes from great men and explain exactly why these men were so great. I learned of all the thinkers our world has produced and admired them. However, to me, he was the greatest of all the men he quoted, yet I look upon you and find it only appropriate that you sit here as the greatest thinker of them all."

Enjolras had found no way to respond, so he took her hand and helped her rise from the table. He had then planted a yearning kiss upon her lips, having been so overcome that she would say such a thing that no words could suffice to express how she had moved his heart and soul.

It was the nights that Aurelie suffered, sleeping in a guestroom instead of the room she had grown in from birth to age twenty. But as she would lay in this bed, she would suddenly become serene as she would realize that this was but a dwelling, and without her family, the one she'd once had and the one she had now, this place meant little. It was no longer a home. There was nothing more than sentimental memories. Now it was just a roof over her head.

As to not overstay their welcome, they spent only three days in the estate that Aurelie had once felt she would never leave. She was so grateful the Vimeur's had been such gracious hosts and it had been rather nice to see how their lives had progressed, as she hadn't seen the family since they'd departed once Aurelie's father had declined an engagement between her and Pierre-Rene. And after everyone expressed their regret that more time had not been shared, the family departed for Marseille on the coast.

* * *

The Significance of Stones

Of the stops during this family vacation, it was Marseille that Aurelie and Enjolras truly felt this trip was a holiday to be remembered. They had rented a quaint house on the beach that rarely saw the wealthy owner, who had his own large mansion a few kilometers down. While it was small, it had exactly three bedrooms, which was all they needed. It was a bit rundown; loose boards allowing the breeze of the ocean to pass through gaps and into the dwelling, which served as a relief from the hot sun instead of torturing them with the cold had they visited in any other season.

They had arrived late and slept deeply their first night, beaten down by the full day of travel after Enjolras had forced them to push onward instead of spending yet another night at an inn along the way. When Aurelie awoke in Enjolras' arms to the sunbeams shining their warmth through the tattered curtains, she felt true bliss. Furthermore, removed from Paris, the tension of visiting Enjolras' parents and awkwardness of the stop in Lavaur behind her, she had entered a heaven where time could pause for a week or so. Nothing to do but relax without a care in the world. There was no revolution to worry about, and she would not allow it to enter her thoughts, as this would be the last time her shoulders would feel free of a burden.

This morning, all that existed in the world was her family. This was what freedom should feel like, and someday, perhaps she'd be so fortuitous to feel it once more, even luckier if she could feel it in her own home in a new Paris that offered such.

After breakfast at a café in the city, they decided to spend the day walking the beach. The children played in the surf while Aurelie and Enjolras walked hand in hand, and it was times like these that they had no idea how they talked of anything else before their children had been born. Not one word of politics or government or the state of the world was uttered by either. Their conversations, instead, revolved around their family; breaking into laughter when Nico fell into the water, soaked like a dog in the rain. Smiling as Honore studied the kelp and rocks, then tossed them to whence they came. Manon and Margot began a collection of seashells that were kept safe in their skirts until Margot was knocked into by Honore, causing her cache to spill into the sand, which had her yelling after him, demanding that he help her retrieve them.

What neither knew was that a storm was brewing inside of Honore.

The conversation at his grandparent's had been overheard by both him and Nico, and when they were alone together, Honore spent the majority of his time assuring his little brother that there was nothing to fear, necessary to soothe his younger brother's despair. Nico was softer; more fragile, and he had done nothing but ask Honore questions with glistening eyes ever since.

Thus Honore had to push his own anxiety aside to care for the boy, regretting that he had allowed Nico to follow him downstairs to eavesdrop that night.

The horrors of a revolution were never shied away from, and he was born and raised as a revolutionary; a copy of his father, and his mother, of course. Still, revolution was romanticized in this family, and strong as Honore was, he was also a boy of fourteen. Even a boy of eighteen would feel the fear for his parents serving as generals for a war. Even a man of thirty-seven had a lot to fear; Enjolras accepted it inside himself.

But Enjolras was not aware Honore had heard the heated discussion they'd had with his father, and Honore, afraid for his parents, felt more fear to address such a topic with them.

And so he stewed. Took care of Nico, hid it all from his sisters, waiting for a time to bring it up if he would confront it at all.

It was their last afternoon on the beach in Marseilles that Honore sat upon a piece of driftwood, picking up shore-polished stones and mindlessly tossing them at random into the sand, finally ready to ask his questions.

It was not to his father he brought them to.

"Father brought me to Saint-Michel," he said abruptly; at least it felt abrupt to Aurelie, who froze beside her son, her gaze ripped from Enjolras, Nico and the twins, Honore now receiving her full attention.

She had not known this had happened. And it surprised her; Enjolras was not one to keep secrets from her. There was a flash of anger that this had not been brought to her attention before, but concern for Honore overshadowed any irritation she felt. Furthermore, she had hoped such a thing would be done together, but she recognized the bonding of father and son in such a place. This would, however, be addressed later with Enjolras, as it was not something he should have kept from her.

Steadying herself so her tone would remain calm and not give away that she was taken off-guard, Aurelie peered at her son, who had not looked at her as of yet. Instead, he bent down to pick up a gently ridged pebble, amethyst in color, with streaks of silver laced through it. A mere glance at the stone and it was flung away again.

"And what did you think of it?" she asked plainly, relieved she carried no tone.

Honore's fingers pinched a small, orange stone that he took a second to study before tossing it out and searching the sand for another. "It is a horrible place. The pavement alone looks sickly, which only enhances how ill those on the street must be. Buildings are in desperate need of repair, tents litter the sidewalks. Everyone mills about without purpose, begging for a single sou, which gives them nothing more than the hope they'll receive twenty more for a hot meal. Everything is gray, colors seem to lose their luster, women are dirty, men dirtier. And yet it is the most important place in Paris to me."

Reaching down, Aurelie located a rock to hand to her son—larger and more rounded, much like toffee—this, in a strange way, a sort of offering: _I am listening, I am a part of this_. He looked at her with a crooked smile as he plucked it from her palm, and she was glad to have caught his eyes to assuage her fears that he may be wrestling with what he had seen. She had noted trepidation, but not devastation. And in this, she was looking upon a young man, no longer a child.

Such is the moment every mother dreads; the day she sees her son is no longer a boy. Yet he still threw rocks, so he wasn't gone yet. He still needed his mother.

"He showed me where the barricades were," Honore continued. "We went into the café. I saw where he planned. We discussed Gavroche and I could see it as I looked out the window. I saw where you hid and I saw where father was shot. Was it terrible?"

Aurelie nodded. "There has been nothing in my life as terrible as that," she responded, recalling those final minutes in vivid detail.

Pursing his lips to the side, Honore launched right into what was troubling him. The caramel stone skittered away.

"Then why are you doing it again?"

Aurelie was taken aback, so much so that she literally backed away on the log so she could look at him fully and not just into his eyes. It took a second for her to rally, which was a must. Honore could not be allowed to see that this question made her uneasy.

"Well, that's a simple question with a complex answer," Aurelie said honestly, stalling so she could sift through her thoughts. "But can I ask you a question before I explain it?"

Honore swallowed. Straightened. He then nodded.

"Does it bother you that we are?"

Taking a moment to think this through, Honore decided to look for another stone. When he found one, instead of throwing it, he held it in an open fist and began to shake it. It was sharp on every edge and a stormy blue in color. As it shook, there seemed to be a small storm cloud rolling and boiling within it.

"It bothers me that _you_ are," he finally said.

"Why?"

Another moment, another few shakes.

"Knowing what I know of 1832, I'd think you would never put yourself through it again," he finally said, then thought for another minute. "It's not because you're a woman. I know what you did. I know you fought, I know you killed. I also understand the necessity. I believe we should fight—" Aurelie winced at the _we_ "—but I worry for you, mother."

This nearly broke Aurelie's heart.

"You should not worry for me, Honore," Aurelie said, wanting to embrace him as a child while recognizing that she could not embrace him as a man. But the motherly instinct to protect her child and soothe his fears was present, and she so wished she could keep him young and innocent. Sadly, Honore had never been _young_. "And I thank you for the compliment, intentional or unintentional, of believing in my strength as to not view me as a woman like others. Which is where I answer your question, Honore.

"We are doing this together because I am unlike other women," she continued after a deep breath. "In visiting Lavaur, you saw what I ran from. I could have been a proper woman with a title, but I wanted none of it. And the night I entered Paris, I fell in love with your father. He was the opposite of what was expected of me, and the mirror of what I had always been. I should explain a few things.

"It is hard for all women to send someone they love to war, and I am not immune to this. After having been through it; after seeing him shot and believing him dead, you're right to question why I would put myself through such a thing again. I will not hide from you that it scares me very much, and this is a secret I share with only you, as I don't even share the extent of it with your father. Further, outside of him, no one believes I have any fear at all." She chuckled to keep the conversation lighter than it was, and with a self-deprecating smile, she added, "So please, keep my secret safe."

Her smile went returned, Honore taking this seriously. "I won't tell anyone."

"But why do it again?" Aurelie asked with a raise of her brow. "We do it out of necessity for you, Honore. For your brother and sisters and every other child in our country. If a generation cannot leave the next a better world than they found it, then they have failed and served no purpose at all."

"Still, that's not what I'm asking," Honore said. "Why are _you_ doing it?"

"Because I believe in it," Aurelie said without hesitation. "So firmly that it feels larger than my being. My aim is to not only protect you, it's to give you the world, as you deserve."

Honore was not satisfied. "I know you do," he said, feeling frustrated. "I've talked of such politics my entire life because of you. But great men are taking care of it! Why join them when you can be safe?"

Biting her lip, Aurelie peered at her son. She felt she had gripped his question now, and answered, "You're afraid for me."

In all honesty, Honore didn't know if that's what it was. Perhaps he was afraid for his mother, as he was, of course, for his father. The thought of their death made him feel dizzy. But he shook his head. That still wasn't the whole of it.

"I am," he admitted. "I'm not even sure what I'm asking, or rather, I'm not sure what answer will suffice, as I feel it's still not good enough, which means my question isn't getting through. I guess it's more a question linked to the past. Should history repeat itself, why would you ever put yourself in a closet again?"

This was firmly grasped, and Aurelie's eyes were opened. Her son knew of her vehemence and her beliefs, her answers had been nothing he hadn't heard before. And she finally knew the only answer that would suffice for the question even he did not understand.

"Because I will not sit at home," she stated firmly. The answer to his question was the same resolve she had made on June 5th. "And I will not hide in a closet. If he is to fight, I refuse to wonder. We are equals, and I will not allow him to die behind my back, should it come to that. I will not allow the news to be delivered to me as I wring my hands at home, helpless. I fight with him so we protect the other, which makes us a force to be reckoned with. And with our determination, we will be untouchable together."

Honore's smile was tight-lipped, approving of this answer. Inhaling deeply through his nostrils, he shook the rock a few more times, then held it out. The storm within it was at last settling.

"Here," he said.

A chuckle escaped Aurelie and she raised a brow.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "No real reason," he said. "Throw it or keep it. It's yours to do with as you wish."

Moments like these reminded Aurelie how lucky she was to have such a child; to have such a family. She did not take it, however. Instead she searched, finally locating a white rock. The weight felt good in her hand, the color pure, the shape pleasing to the eye, and she held it up between her thumb and forefinger.

"A trade?"

A nod was received, and the rocks were exchanged.

Neither were thrown, instead they were pocketed for another day.


	5. Book Four: Men Will Always Speak

**BOOK FOUR:**

**Men Will Always Speak**

* * *

How a Woman Reaches the Hearts of Men

On July 9th, Aurelie and Enjolras stepped from a coach at the Langelier's large estate. To properly visualize such an event, you must imagine a row of carriages lined up to the front door; how the pair had to quite literally wait in a twenty minute line just to be received by the footmen stationed in front to help such powerful men and women out of their transportation.

Once inside, they found a foyer large enough to host what would be considered an entire party in the space alone, yet there were so many gathered for the evening that this would be impossible, so the guests were shown down a hallway into a ballroom of marble flooring, crème paint, many mirrors and gold-leaf crown molding around the ceiling. Chandeliers above held enough candles to keep the entire span of the room well lit, yet on every table sat a candelabra to assist with the illumination, no matter how unnecessary the additional light was. The tables? Nothing short of regal; ornate around the edges of the mahogany and slick with lacquer. The chairs matched with royal blue velvet cushions. Such a room was comparable to one found in a palace, and for the first of the bourgeois banquets, the environment suited the egos of those they'd yet to sway.

It was a fancy occasion, and Enjolras and Aurelie had dressed appropriately. Enjolras wore a black dress jacket with long tails in the back, beneath this a maroon brocade vest festooned with silver buttons. Around his neck was a perfectly tied cravat of the same satin fabric, and the chain from one pocket to the other was the watch Aurelie had given him when they'd married.

Aurelie was the only person in the world who could outshine this man tonight, and did such with an extraordinary silver gown; the likes of which you might see on Louise of Orleans, King Louis Philippe's eldest daughter. A portrait of the princess had been painted in such a gown with a ruffled skirt and a long satin train behind her. The delicate lacy neck was wide, leaving Aurelie's shoulders bare; the sleeves capped and without the large bulging puffs of fabric that were so in fashion. Instead it was ribbon that gave them their volume, along with a large bow at her chest.

Around her neck: the gold chain.

This chain would not have been noticed, however, as there was a large silver necklace covering it that draped around her décolletage in a complex pattern, and at each crossing, a sapphire had been affixed, the lowest the largest, just above the bow on the gown.

Her hair was parted slightly to the left, though not flattened tight against her crown like every other woman. She instead left it wavy until the ringlets draped at her ears, which were pinned up, as was in fashion.

To say she stood out is an extremely large understatement for what Aurelie actually did. As always, she emerged from the masses as an Angel sent to earth, God insisting he show off the finest of creatures he'd ever sculpted. And as she entered the crowded room, she became the only women everyone saw.

Still, she did not overshadow the Apollo at her side; if anything, she highlighted him, complimenting the stunningly beautiful man instead of subtracting. Taking him in, it was only natural he had such a woman holding his arm, and the reverse could be said, as looking at Aurelie, there was no other man worthy of standing by her side. There was envy in all eyes as this pair was gazed upon. Envy and admiration.

But there is always an opposite to complete a picture. A dark side of the moon, and while he was attractive, he did not fit in. After they'd been received by Monsieur Langelier and his wife, the Madame Luisa, daughter of Duke Charles II de Chatelleraute, whom had only received permission to marry a man without title due to the great wealth Monsieur Langelier maintained, and we tell you to look at the wealth of the King himself and cut such in half. Though we do not know the exact figure of Langelier's fortune, he came from a long line of investors who took advantage of the greater fools.

But we digress, and return to the antipole of Enjolras, though this man was who Enjolras once was and likely would have been now, if not for Aurelie. Cuny, while an attractive man, despite the wear and tear the skin receives after years in prison, did not fit in here. He wore cotton and linen, for starters, but the clothes were not the problem. It was his lack of caring how he was viewed by men he so hated to the point where he had done nothing with his dark hair, and across his face was a day's worth of stubble that he'd been too lazy to shave off before walking here. He was the only man who had not exited a carriage, and was quick to join Enjolras and Aurelie so he could make the jabs in a sarcastic nature that he'd been biting back for the better part of an hour since his arrival.

And it began with this, whispered into the ear of Aurelie instead of Enjolras: "If I'm to suffer through a parade of bourgeois, help me find the bar and sit me beside you, for these fat cats make my skin crawl."

"It's good to see you, Cuny," Aurelie said, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Once again, you managed to scrounge up some proper attire."

With both hands, Cuny patted his stomach, then casually slid his fingers into the pockets of his green striped vest, a lighter color than the dark forest green jacket he wore, and neither complimented the other. Still, it was better than what he'd wear during the day; all linen, all covered in oil. He'd been contracting work anywhere he could find it, usually in factories, sometimes in houses.

"No, Madame," Cuny said, leaning back and taking in Aurelie. "Proper attire would be dressed as he who stands beside you. Evening, my friend!"

Enjolras shook his hand with a noble smile. "I'm not sure there will come a time when I'm not glad to see you, Cuny," he said, shaking his head in wonder. Cuny could have been him.

"Give me an hour and try to repeat that," Cuny replied, raising a brow while keeping a close eye on Aurelie. She had been pulled aside by a few women, who were cooing over her gown. "Your wife is stunning, once more. Attracting all the attention of both men and women alike. Though, my friend, I hate to alarm you; she is wearing a rather large scar on her arm."

The grin Enjolras had offered turned grim, though not out of anger; out of remembrance. "From the night neither you nor I will ever forget," Enjolras said, his eyes hooded, his lower lip outward. "Struck by grapeshot atop our barricade at rue Saint Martin."

"Your wife was atop a barricade?" Cuny cried, louder than he'd meant to and quickly lowered his chin as he eyed the general vicinity to be sure no one had been paying attention. Taking his tone to a whisper, he said, "I spoke with her about many things at your house, but not once did she regale me with such a tale. Were you there?"

Aurelie's scar, however much it had faded, served as a morbid reminder of how he had let her down at the barricades. It was faint now; a jagged white line along her warm-toned skin. As the fashion took sleeves to the elbow, it was never seen by anyone but Enjolras. Tonight, in her capped sleeves, it was rather prominent now that it had been pointed out, something Enjolras hadn't thought of because he viewed it so often. It was a part of her, making her more beautiful because of what she had done to earn it. None the less, when he actually thought about it, it made him sick that he had been the cause. But there was one positive to be had: it also served as a reminder of what he would never allow again.

"I was beside her," Enjolras responded. "The horrifying truth of it is that I covered her when she was struck and never knew it had happened. She was brave enough to hide it from me, and she hid it well, as one look into her eyes and I can see all her secrets, always."

Pressing his lips together, Cuny eyed Aurelie in a new light. He'd been astounded by her knowledge at the dinner, truly taken by how she danced the fine line of a sweet hostess and emphatic orator. "A fierce woman, that one. Hold onto her, and I mean that literally. Barricades are a dangerous place."

"I'm well aware," Enjolras said through tightened lips. After taking a deep breath, he rallied and gestured with his shoulder. "Let's steal her back and the three of us will find a table."

It was a half hour journey to find seats, as the three were stopped half a dozen times for superficial conversations along the way. This early in the evening, it was all about pleasantries and warm smiles. Such masks would be dropped in due time, as men would take the front of the room very much in the way public rallies had been seen peppering the streets before they'd been outlawed.

This included Enjolras, despite Aurelie's protests.

It's worth explaining that Aurelie felt the same pride of standing beside such a man; a born leader, and she expected nothing less. She knew the man she was married to, and if he was not a man who command the attention of others, she would not know him. His name was synonymous with "revolution" and "change", and this was accepted.

However, seeing as they had not continued any sort of discussion as to his level of involvement, Enjolras was swiftly morphing into what she had willfully denied. Deep down she'd known it would come to this; beyond that, the night after their dinner when Enjolras had told her their fate should not be left up to other men, she had been spooked enough to agree. Still, it was a danger for him to be a mouthpiece, more so than when he had been a student. He had a family; greater, he had status, and should these evenings come to a halt at the hands of the government, he would be made an example.

As such fear would strike her suddenly and randomly during the day or night, she would have to remind herself that this had been inevitable, and she'd had fifteen extra years with him that should have never been. In trade, it must be accepted that she set him free.

We remind you once more, and for the last time, that Aurelie believed in all of this so firmly that, was she married to another man, this is where she would be regardless. It was his level of involvement that she feared, not that they were involved at all.

Dinner remained pleasant, though filled with political and historical discussions in the confines of each separate round table. As to not make things too serious, when someone would start a tangent, another would offer a self-deprecating smile along with a witty phrase to relax the atmosphere.

At the table Enjolras and Aurelie sat at, it was Cuny who needed the most taming, as his sarcasm tended to incite other men rather than easing them. He had a way with words that could sting, leaving a man defensive and feeling as though he had something to prove. Enjolras had this same effect, but was far more eloquent with his phrasing that he evoked the spark of enthusiasm, whereas Cuny evoked the heat of a burn.

Thus, Aurelie took it upon herself to keep Cuny's attention, sitting by his side and maintaining his focus. She liked the man; he reminded her of three men, had they been combined into the form of one. He had the ferocity and violence of Courfeyrac, the knowledge and pleasant wit of Bossuet, the pessimism and skepticism of Grantaire.

Cuny was a smart brute who did not care what men thought of him, and men did not know what to make of him. His eyes had not lost the wildfire of a youth on a mission, though his leathered skin was that of a man who had done hard time as a slave. Still, his look had an element of dark charm, everything about the man seductively villainous. Women would swoon at the idea of the danger he presented instead of the romance of poetry. He was a risk worth taking, and had been told repeatedly before serving time that he was a wild lover, been told after his sentence that he was even wilder. Though he was not tall, nor fat, nor overly muscled, nor meek, the guards had feared him, not for any sort of physical threat; for his ability to incite. Thus he'd spend fourteen hours a day chained into hard labor, ten in solitary confinement. When freed, instead of showing gratitude, he'd told the officer: "Your day of reckoning will come, and I will be grinning at you when I see you in hell." Gentle was not a descriptor for Cuny. Vengeful, angry, savage, rancorous and mysterious. He was dangerous and safe at the same time: safe for those who agreed with him, dangerous to those who did not. And yet, all of this was hidden behind a mask of apathy and disguised by wit and sarcasm. Woe betide the man who removes such a mask, and blessings upon those who understood what lay beneath, for they are forever in his protection.

In short; Cuny was a seductive revolutionary, willing to serve as a goon.

Remarkably, Enjolras was capable of everything aforementioned. Take everything above and put a positive spin on it, you would find the golden Apollo. Their most common trait: determination for the betterment of society. Both untouchable, both worshiped. The difference? Enjolras evoked admiration and love, Cuny evoked fear and hate.

Perhaps this is why they had originally struck up a friendship, and such a friendship was beneficial to war. Enjolras had followers: Worshipers, if you will. Cuny had a mafia. Both had tamed with age and experience, but inside they were very much the same.

Why would Aurelie like such a rough man? He was knowledgeable, of course, something Aurelie valued, but he was also intimidating. He was sarcastic and apathetic, something Aurelie found entertaining, just as she had with Bossuet and Grantaire, but it did not suit her passion. It was that, above all, she needed him. Cuny could be what Enjolras had no right to be, and this relieved her fears.

Besides, he was rather loveable.

Langelier took the head of the room after desert had been served to welcome everyone to his house. After introducing himself as an investor and benefactor to every school in Paris, of which everyone in this room knew he was, he then explained why they had gathered in a private setting that would be no secret.

"A house offers safety whereas the street cannot, seeing as how our freedom of public assembly has been banned. There is nothing the government can accuse us of in here, as there is no law stating men cannot dine and discuss politics. These walls offer asylum."

Later, he said: "The King is spiraling and taking the country down with him. Our debt is outrageous and will take decades, if not centuries to recover. He owes our own bankers no small fortune, a good reason for them to love him and a good reason to stay in their good graces."

From there, he explained that while he lacked political knowledge, he could talk of history and economics. He paralleled the current status of the state and the triumphs and victories of those in the past. He quoted men as far back as Plato on up the ladder to these modern day writers.

Soon after: "My good friend Enjolras said five weeks ago: Never before have such men been brave enough to rise against our government, and he was correct; we have been cowards because we have everything to lose. He is a man no different than any of us here tonight. A man with a family, a man of wealth and status, with one stark difference. He has done what we have been too afraid to do in the past, risking it all for the plights of our poor."

Aurelie bit her lips, accepting what she must; that he would once again be the face of a general to rally the people they needed for a victory. And so she smiled at Enjolras and took his hand on the table to offer him the encouragement and strength to do what he must.

But then, her worst nightmare came to fruition, and she froze as Langelier continued:

"I know of history, my dear friend Enjolras knows of politics. I know of economics, Enjolras knows of injustice. But if you'll allow me—if she'll allow me—I'd like to introduce his sensational wife. Pardon me for the surprise, Madame, and I should have given you a warning. For that I apologize. But this woman represents every woman in this room, and every woman in this country. She is the reason men like us rise to fight for equality, and you will soon understand why I say this if she takes this podium. Forget our desire for glory and our names written as men who altered the course of this country; it is for our women and children we must fight. Madame Enjolras, will you give us the honor of your words, as you can speak them as well, if not better, than any man here?"

Wide-eyed in horror, Aurelie looked at Enjolras, unable to steady her breath. His eyes were narrowed.

"You do not need to do this," Enjolras whispered. "I can walk up there and politely explain—"

"I need to do this," Aurelie said, then swallowed heavily.

From there, she rose from her chair, head held high as she scanned the room. On every face, she recognized that this was unprecedented. Not once had any man or woman here seen a woman speak out publicly, and the reaction in the crowd ranged from surprise to disbelief to annoyance.

But it was those who were bemused; those faces staring at her just waiting for her to fail and make a fool out of herself. These faces gave her the strength. The determination to prove them wrong.

And as she walked up to the podium, she thought of her father. How proud he would be to see her now, standing up for what she believed and tapping into everything she had ever learned from him.

Langelier eyed her with apology, and as he leaned in to kiss her cheek, he whispered, "Forgive me. But I believe you are our greatest hope."

After a deep breath, she smiled pensively, turning her head to look at Langelier.

"Well, now that our host has successfully embarrassed me—" this received chuckles throughout the tables "—I'll ask that you forgive me now for taking his invitation, which, for the record, indeed caught me by surprise, and I'll apologize further for having nothing prepared."

"Let me explain to you all now that ill-prepared is where this woman eats," Langelier cried out good-naturedly. "She requires no preparation and could win a debate with every one of you in this room one on one. Her only apology should be that she is a greater man than any of us here. I'll leave you now."

Despite never having taken a podium, Aurelie was not only strong and quick with her words, she had begun delightfully humble, and it was this that eased the tensions of men who feared her intelligence.

Thus, to now prove her strength, she began by looking men in the eyes and lingering in each glance so they would set aside their judgments and listen.

"I can see each of you," she began, a tone of warning. "Some of you are shocked, some of you are at the edge of your seat to hear what a woman has to say about a rebellion, some of you are disgusted that I stand here. So know that I see it, and I care not how you feel about this. I only ask that you listen. Let me begin by giving you a reason to:

"On June 5th of 1832, I dressed as a man and stood behind a barricade." This statement received gasps and scoffs. "I loaded weapons, I carried our dead. You wish for proof of it? I wear it openly on my arm tonight."

Aurelie turned to the side and lifted the sleeve of her dress so the crowd could see the entirety of the scar she had received.

"I speak to the men and tell you that I killed a soldier atop a barricade, where I was struck by grapeshot. I speak to the women and tell you that I did this because they had killed a child in front of my eyes, and I believe any of you, upon seeing a child murdered, would kill the murderer without a second thought."

This statement received silence, and she now had their full attention.

"We failed," she said strongly, then allowed a moment to let this sink in. "Over and over again, Paris has failed. With each failure, a part of the heart of France is missing, and there is little left. We are losing. We move backwards while the rest of the world makes progress, surpassing us little by little, and the gap is widening to a point where we may never make up the distance. An example? In 1776 a brand new country was formed with a declaration of independence, and only eleven years later a constitution was written, one year later ratified, one year after that made the law of the land. That was nearly seventy-five years ago, so not only do we live in a country centuries older, we live in a country nearly a century behind. Across the ocean is a democracy to the people, a republic to the laws of the land. Ask yourself why citizens of Europe flee there, and I say one word: monarchy. Monarchy is the umbrella term for every injustice we can name."

After five minutes of speaking about such injustices, Aurelie continued with this:

"A woman stands before you now on behalf of our country's children. For too long we have suffered such injustices and it is women who have the heart to wish for a better future for those we have birthed. It is men's responsibility to provide, and that they do, but they have failed on a larger spectrum, not because they have no will, but because they have not yet worked together. Small groups have been called rebellions and are mocked for having lost before they even began. Rebellions fail, revolutions succeed; such is the definition of each word. Name the dates of our revolutions, then try to name the dates of rebellions. It is only when everyone agrees that we make progress, and I am looking upon those with the power to command our greatest minds. Those who are poor out-populate us, and they have been waiting on us for centuries."

Another five minutes passed, and Aurelie had not just gained the attention of every man and woman in the room, she had earned their respect.

She concluded her rally.

"Men, I ask you now to turn to your wife," she ordered, then, just as Enjolras so often did, she wet her lips in determination. "Turn to your wife and tell her you will provide. Promise her that for your children, you will not just bring home their bread; you will deliver them a future."

A long moment of stillness passed, Aurelie fearing that her time spent here had meant nothing. Eyes were on her, but had she changed any minds? Or had she simply made a joke of this important date; a story these men would tell as they laughed over a bottle of wine in a tavern. The woman who had taken the podium and made a fool of herself.

And then a miracle happened.

These men who had disbelief painted across their features as she had risen from her chair—men who had dared her to fail—turned to their wives.

A rumbling began.

While the words were indistinguishable to Aurelie, Enjolras heard them clearly. Benoit, across the table, promising Pauline that they would succeed. Behind him he heard two men, and one said to his wife: I will deliver a just world to our children and grandchildren. The other said: We will take them down.

Enjolras began to rise from his chair, pausing midway to take in the room. He noticed that not one man had a closed mouth. There were few times Enjolras could say he was stunned into silence, and this was one of them. His chest could barely contain his heart as it fluttered, his eyes could be no wider than they were now.

They met Aurelie's. Held. For a long time, they held before he infinitesimally shook his head. And, mirroring the other, the corners of their mouths rose at the same time.

Lightly closing her eyes for a moment, Aurelie sucked in a breath of air. Turning herself back on, she shot her arm out, palm up, directly aimed at Enjolras.

"My husband, Alexandre Enjolras," she announced, then puffed out her chest. "Do you promise this to me?"

Enjolras tilted his head to the side with a grin of adoration.

"I will provide you with the world," he announced, and a gentle applause rocked the room as he made his way to the podium. Leaning into her to kiss her cheek, he whispered, "It is you who leads this battle. It is you who will win it for us."

* * *

How Midas' Touch Creates Gold

At first, it appeared as though Langelier had taken a gamble.

Now in his late forties, Langelier was a calculating businessman who held investments of old wealth on top of the new; money in companies over the course of centuries throughout France. You would think such a name would have been offered a title somewhere along his lineage, but it was said that the name aloud was feared by kings. The Langelier's were too smart and savvy for their own good, thus offering them a title could lead to a new royal house. When it came to investments, men could be heard asking if the Langelier's had hedged their bets, and no company without the Langelier name as one of their investors ever managed the great success of those that had. Men who could not calculate numbers chalked such successes up to good luck, but those who understood economics knew the Langelier's were nothing short of genius. Langelier was well respected for such transactions, but he earned the most respect for his work as a benefactor. Large sums of money were given to schools throughout Paris, as Langelier believed it was upon the thinkers to make worldly progress. He envisioned a future with da Vinci's inspired blueprints, and in his free time, he would draw his own exalted ideas.

You could call his investments a gamble if he felt they had a chance of failure, but nothing his money ever touched failed, thus it was called success with design. He knew what would succeed early; call it an inherent feeling or calculated knowledge. Money was easy. Money wanted more of itself. Men respected money, hence they respected him.

He was not one to gamble, and as with his investments, he had not felt for a second that this night would fail. And because men followed his wealth, they followed his ideas. But for the first time in his life, he had been questioned by these followers as he'd introduced Aurelie.

After her great triumph, no man would dare question him again. Everything he touched turned to gold, as was apparent by the woman at the podium who shined with the light of heaven itself beneath the silver gown.

As people began to leave, congratulating him on a spectacular showing, Langelier searched for Aurelie. All these adieus meant nothing to him, though he plastered on a grin of gratitude, leaving the bulk of the conversational exchanges to his wife.

His eyes scanned every head but the faces in front of him as they walked out the door.

In fact, when he spotted her, he excused himself from his wife's side and wove through the parade of those making their exit, unable to wait until she finally reached him.

When Aurelie saw the crowd parting ahead of her for an urgent Langelier, she eyed Enjolras, then Marius and Benoit. She said under her breath, "I wonder what has happened!"

But it was before them he stopped, and attempting to be a proper man who had not just shoved his way through the bourgeois, he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. The look on his face, however, he could not straighten out.

"Was it true?" he asked in wonder. Staring at him, Aurelie hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about. "Your scar?"

Aurelie nodded, peering at him through the raise of one brow. "Direct center of the barricade, beside him," she said, then placed a delicate hand on Enjolras' arm.

Langelier let out a puff of air as he shook his head. "I knew you'd be good," he said while shaking his head. "One on one, you are spectacular, so I had no doubt of it when I called you up."

"You're not a man to miscalculate," Benoit chuckled, having followed Langelier's investments to determine his own.

"No," Langelier said firmly, aware of his greatness. "And I didn't with your sister." Sweeping his arms out as a gesture to the swell of people around them, a mischievous grin spread across his thin lips. "And all these men should have known better."

Feeling her face warm, Aurelie's eyes darted from person to person, and they without a doubt had heard him. She could not help that she felt glad he had said as much, as the disbelief on every man's face as she'd taken the podium deserved a little rubbing of their noses.

"I don't want you to leave," he suddenly said, and there was a hint of desperation to it that caught Aurelie off guard. "An hour, no more. Drinks to unwind and review our evening. Enjolras, Aurelie, the Pontmercy, the Baron, even the convict! All of you, please stay for a drink."

It was astounding even to him how swept up he was in the excitement of the evening, and he laughed as a boy when Cuny shot him a look as though he'd gone mad.

Enjolras eyed Aurelie to gauge how she felt about this, received a shrug from her, then patted Langelier's shoulder. "An hour, my friend."

"Superb!" he cried, then whistled over his shoulder at a footman, who rushed to his side. "Show them into my library and bring whatever they would like to drink." His eyes quickly scanned the men. "Uncork our finest brandy, see that they have a glass before I join them."

The footman bowed as Langelier returned to his duties as a host, then showed the group through a large sitting room and into a library with enough books to satisfy an entire university. A ladder on wheels balanced on an iron track so the highest of books could be reached, and all Aurelie wanted to do was spin it around the room so she could read every title the man owned.

Once seated on leather furniture with drinks in hand, Benoit held his glass up. "My sister, it seems you have one of the greatest men in Paris worshiping you." He took a healthy gulp, inhaled deeply over its magnificent taste as he closed his eyes, then shook his head. "Oh, Aurelie, know here and now that I am going to take as much advantage of this as I can."

Laughing, Marius responded, "Astounding how a financial bourgeois can hate every other financial bourgeois."

"It goes to show that the greatest of them know how wrong they are," Enjolras agreed. "Such men ride his coattails to their success; it will be all the more gratifying when he takes them down."

As he said this, the spark of an idea began to form in his revolutionary mind. It began to create paths, and he explored each for a moment to see where such roads could lead. Cruel as it was, it was worth considering. How well it would be received, however, was what left him deciding to feel out the temperature before it was brought forth.

Langelier had taken longer than he'd liked to join his new friends in the library. He'd known Enjolras for years, needing his services in the many legal troubles he had; all false accusations coming from those who had lost money without him having given them any recommendations at all. Many men would point the finger at him that he had never even met, and he'd found a friend in his lawyer.

But these other men were his new comrades. Further, this woman was now his priest.

"My apologies," Langelier said, pouring himself a glass of brandy. "People do like to talk. Despite how congenial I am in public, I prefer my own company. Which saying aloud should prove to you how much I value yours."

His smile was kind and humble, and Benoit echoed it with a compliment. "Men follow every move you make; it's no wonder to me why they would crave your ear."

"True as that may be, my ears crave either silence or those I deem worthy of hearing," he responded. "As insulting as that sounds, these bankers and financial men have no right whatsoever to talk of business. We view our poor as thieves when such men are the bottom feeders, blindly following greatness to compensate for their lack of it."

Enjolras leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "It will feel good to take such bottom feeders down. They'll finally serve a purpose as their wealth distributes to men who must earn it on their own."

Holding his glass into the air, Langelier said, "To a successful evening! It's about time we gathered on behalf of the laborers and unemployed, and I look forward to where this no doubt will lead."

Everyone drank to this toast, then the room settled into the peaceful calm of unwinding after an evening of tension.

Sitting back in his leather chair, Langelier pointed at Aurelie with his glass. "Aurelie," he said, then raised a brow. "Tell me you don't mind me calling you such?"

"Of course not," Aurelie said kindly.

"I'd like to apologize personally instead of at a podium for catching you by surprise, and I'd like to explain myself."

"I'm ready for it," Aurelie responded, her tone playful and endeared to this man. Because of what he was, she'd never expected him to behave as an eager schoolboy, instead assuming he was a harsh economist and almighty scholar. Indeed he was, but she was seeing the softer side to the man, and she liked it.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Langelier began thoughtfully. "The key to judging the worth of the business you choose to invest in is by judging the man. You'd be amazed what nothing more than belief can do, and men who believe in what they provide are the best providers. Have two men present me with their gadget, one a great man who believes in it, the other an average man who just wants to make money, and I will always choose the first. Believing in what you sell is what makes it sell."

"Though it certainly helps that the second your name has been mentioned as an investor, the business is showered with funds," Benoit pointed out good-naturedly.

Langelier laughed. "It does help, but a business will fail despite its wealth if the man who runs it manages it badly. A man who doesn't believe in his work has already failed. Invest in the man and you will reap the rewards.

"Already knowing what you stood for at your dinner party, I was skeptical. To start a revolution is a risk, as with businesses; it is up to the men who run them whether or not they succeed or fail. I went to your dinner to investigate, nothing more, and Enjolras, you had me when you rose at the head of the table. I knew I would invest, as I judged the man instead of the business, and in him, I found insurmountable greatness.

"What do I generally give to a business?" he mused, seemingly speaking to himself, though he had the devoted ears of every person in the library who were riveted. "It all depends on the man. Ten percent of his capital needed? Twenty? It's not the figure that matters, it's my belief in him. So you rose, I decided to invest. After judging the man, I deemed him worthy and held a banquet to find other investors. But once the money is in play, there is further investigation required. You must judge the men he employs, and from there, you may decide to keep it at what has been offered if those he surrounds himself with are not what you had hoped for. However, should he employ greatness, it would be foolish to stick with your original percentage, as more rewards can be reaped should the stakes go up."

Turning a level gaze to Aurelie, the grin disappeared. "At your house," Langelier began, and he did so with a scrutinizing gaze of someone studying something they cannot comprehend. "I spoke with you but fifteen minutes and knew in the first that you were magic. Rarely do I stumble across a man who I would invest in by instinct, yet I did not need to sit at a table with you to know of your worth, to recognize how firmly you believed in what you sold. You confirmed my intuition in those fifteen minutes, and thus I decided to up my percentage originally offered.

"Tonight I invested in you," he said seriously. Transfixed on the man, Aurelie's lips parted, unable to comprehend how this man believed in her so firmly. "It's very possible you have not followed my name and my investments—"

"I certainly have," Aurelie interrupted, then shook her head. "I know the power you have, and my father and brother have spoken highly of your family name since I was a child."

Langelier smiled peaceably. "Then perhaps you know one more thing," he told her. "I do not gamble. Every action I make is calculated and carefully scrutinized as to ensure success. And so I give you my apology for catching you off guard, but it was necessary. Had you prepared, you would not have spoken from the heart. The intelligence and belief is there already, as great as the greatest men I know, as great as the man you married. But it is your heart that makes you magic, and I needed—_we_ needed these men to be as surprised by you as I was. Men follow my name, they follow my investments and they take everything I say as gospel. That is not enough. They needed to feel what it is like to believe; to understand instinct, to judge a man instead of the business. Only you could give them that. Words can rile and incite, but the heart must be present to guarantee success. They all have the will to fight, but you gave them the reason. You were magic, you are magic, and in their eyes and mine, you will always be magic."

Because this was met with complete silence, Aurelie never able to respond to such profound words spoken of her to her face, Enjolras took her hand and said as much.

"She is magic," he said adoringly, then chuckled to lighten the atmosphere. "And she hates to hear it—"

Aurelie bit her lips, brows narrowed, deep in contemplation. Her gaze was austere, and she could not seem to position herself right on the leather couch. But she scooted forward, releasing Enjolras' hand and placing her own on his knee.

"No," she said, this aimed at Enjolras without looking at him. Keeping her gaze on Langelier, she swallowed. "Thank you," she continued heavily, then wet her lips. "Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for your investment, and I will not let you down."

This sent Langelier chuckling, and he raised his glass to her, then took a sip. "I've no doubt of it," he said, then looked around the room. "Judge the man, I tell you, not the business, and you are guaranteed a return far greater than you ever imagined. Now, enough of that. Tell me of your plans when our day comes!"

Knowing she would not be able to talk again, Aurelie leaned back and let the men take over. Beside her, Pauline took her hand and squeezed it while smiling at her. Neither listened to much as Marius, Benoit, Enjolras and Langelier discussed strategies. Aurelie was still too stunned, and Pauline was now offering to be her rock while her husband got down to business.

They did not drop the other's hand until the evening came to a close.


	6. Book Five: On a Winter's Day

_Author's note: I am not entirely sure what necessitates a warning on this site, as content is subjective. This is not graphic, but is content matter that may make reader's uncomfortable. Therefore, I give this warning just in case. Thank you for your continued support!_

* * *

**BOOK FIVE:**

**On a Winter's Day**

* * *

A Conversation of which Propels the Worst Case Scenario

An official campaign of banquets had begun throughout Paris and trickled into every province in the country. There were no leaders, only hosts; men who had the floor space and chairs to hold at least a hundred; these men volunteering their residences for such occasions, but did not do anything more than introduce the public forum. There was no schedule to abide to; any man who wished to rise and speak did exactly that, and every man had a right to be angry about something.

The official message these banquets sent was that the government could not keep men silent. Men will always speak freely, and these men had a way to make it happen: in the privacy of houses open to those who wished for a forum, yet could not have one in the streets. The public goal was to overturn the 1835 Act banning private assembly, but below the surface, it was clear to all where this would lead, and it was only a matter of time.

There was a heart, a core, a soul; men whom have been aforementioned among plenty of others. And it was these men who worked behind the scenes, organizing a far more important event, should it become necessary. These men made sure everything was in place if the government attempted to shut down the banquets, and seeing as how such a thing could be sudden and catch them off-guard, it was important all backup plans were in place.

As always, Enjolras settled for nothing but a masterpiece. If he was to risk his life once more—if he was to risk his wife's life, much more important than his own—it must be divinity. Thus he delegated leaders, just as he had in 1832, mapping out the proper places for barricades and assigning these generals positions. While they hadn't designed a plan from the beginning, barricades were all the people had at their disposal in an uprising. Word was sent to leaders in all the arrondissements throughout Paris.

Having submitted that this was the plan, Aurelie could do nothing less than support it fully, and because of this, she took it upon herself to go above and beyond, as perfection was required.

Further, they worked together. Enjolras followed through with his promise, just as she had followed through with hers. Because she supported him, he allowed her to be fully involved. It helped that so many men now greatly respected her, so when he needed a lieutenant to visit the generals of groups who would raise a barricade, Aurelie was one of them.

And still, he managed to maintain the façade that he was not the sole organizer because of his delegating. His power of suggestion was unsurpassed, making men believe they'd had the idea in the first place before it was enacted.

Theodore acted as a sort of governmental spy. There were few secrets, and on the liberal side, Theodore was one of them. This was done so he could take word of anything he heard directly to Enjolras, which eased the fears of any surprise attack. He was working from the inside, and come a day where they must rise, Theodore would break ranks. Until then, he was their warning siren, ready to sound the alarm should the government make a move.

Cuny organized the poor where Enjolras organized the rich. It was Cuny who visited the secret meetings throughout Paris; he the only man the downtrodden would trust. He'd found a strange little apartment on rue du Plumet that required three steps downward to be on the first floor. It was cluttered. Cuny, who was unable to organize his own belongings in his humble dwelling, was obsessively organized with inventorying all weapons, munitions and powder. He spent most nights with a group of friends fashioning bullets and scoring the barrels of their guns. Swords were sharpened. Of everyone, Cuny was determined to fight whereas the others hoped their words would reach the ears of their politicians.

He was, indeed, the muscle.

On the morning of December 1st, as breakfast was served, Enjolras was found at the table studying a piece of paper. It held one name and one place: Lagrande, Cougourde.

No piece of paper held any more than that, should something be carelessly left around. One piece of parchment could not sell out every man.

Pursing his lips to the side as he eyed Aurelie, he tilted his head and said, "He wants to ameliorate," then handed the slip over.

There was a twitch in the corner of Aurelie's lips as she saw the name; the red-haired scruffy man who had served as general in 1832. He was the man who had led the second to last barricade that had fallen; the man who had not given up, equaling Enjolras' dedication to the cause. The only reason they'd been defeated before Saint-Michel was that the National Guard had reached them first.

"He's a good man," Aurelie said, then raised a brow. "Honestly I didn't think he—" She eyed her children, not wanting to complete that with a phrase of life or death. "—was still around."

Knowing their conversation must be delicate, Enjolras shrugged. "All it takes is some talk for men to be found once more. I need to see him personally."

"Manon, finish your eggs," Aurelie ordered her daughter, whom had pushed her plate forward as a sign that she was finished. Manon scowled, pulled the plate closer once more and began to dramatically shovel the rest of her eggs into her mouth. Aurelie sniffled, her features devoid of any sort of emotion. "Cuny can go. He will be fine."

Perking up, Honore shifted forward, eying his parents. "It's been awhile since he's been here," he said, fond of the wild streak Cuny embodied. "Why is that?"

"He's been a very busy man," Enjolras said to his son. "Men who have the least have to work the most. Know that we are very blessed." He then turned back to Aurelie. "Cuny doesn't know Lagrande, and Lagrande will require someone he knows he can trust."

"I'll go with him," Aurelie told Enjolras with a sigh, handing the paper back to her husband.

"Absolutely not," Enjolras said, over-enunciating the consonants and grimacing as he snatched the paper from Aurelie.

"And why not?"

"Because the words just left my mouth."

At first, Aurelie's jaw fell open. It then promptly shut so tightly that her lips were an outline of white.

She finally said under her breath, "I will not be ordered by a controlling husband."

Livid. He was livid, and Aurelie knew it was only seconds away from a disastrous screaming match over her even offering. Placing a gentle hand in the center of the table, she looked to her children. "You're excused," she said. "Get your things, Madame Moubray will escort you to school this morning."

They did not need to hear this twice, the Enjolras' children well aware of what their father looked like when angry. Sliding from their chairs, they rushed from the dining room, all but Honore, who walked with his head held high.

Somewhere along the line, Honore had made a decision to no longer fight his father. He did not ask to be brought to banquets, he did not demand he be treated like a man. He had decided to choose his battle, peacefully accepting now that he would have to internalize his frustration that he was not included so that when the day came, he could make his demands, and his father could not fight him.

Honore had decided he would fight, his chosen battle: the revolution.

Though there had been few in the past six months, Aurelie and Enjolras assumed their own battle posture, positioning their hands, squaring their shoulders, chins held high. It had been fifteen years since they'd had a true, outright fight, and they both felt this would be one of them.

Yes, there were times he was late for supper and would receive a disapproving silent treatment, times she would put her foot down on a financial decision and would receive a tone of frustration. Times they had disagreed with the other on how to discipline their children when they had acted out.

Those were minor storms and easily weathered.

This was not.

Aurelie sat in patient silence, casual in pose, only her eyes darting around as she listened to the feet above her head. Every thirty seconds, she'd eye Enjolras and find him doing the same.

They waited.

Madame Moubray was spotted at the door and glanced over as she held it open for the children, patting each on the shoulder as they passed her. She then smiled at Aurelie and Enjolras, and they both nodded back.

The second the door was closed, Aurelie's eyes landed on Enjolras and they became each other's sole focus.

"I cannot believe you would actually suggest—"

"Take that back," Aurelie said, holding her finger up between them. "Rephrase it thus and pose it as a question. _Why would you go? _Then—and only then—will I actually consider responding."

"It's not a question," Enjolras said easily.

Aurelie laughed. "You're right. Your phrasing is an accusation. I'm only suggesting you rethink your wording as to receive a pleasant response instead of one where worlds collide."

With a lethargic blink that was meant to openly patronize, Enjolras dully asked, "Why would you go?"

"The banquet campaign is wrapping up in the coming weeks, tensions are extremely high," Aurelie explained diplomatically. However, this is not to say she was feeling remotely diplomatic. They way he'd shut her down when she'd offered to go left her hostile. "If the government doesn't make a move and the campaign completes, they will viewed as weak. This will be an admission of defeat."

"And if they do make a move, everything must be in place," Enjolras continued. "This includes such men as Lagrande, as he is one of the finest I have met in my life, surpassing nearly everyone in my present company. There's no time to waste."

"Precisely my point," Aurelie said. "You need to get to Lagrande, but with everything wrapping up now either cleanly or soiled, you must have a presence here. You don't have the time to go see Lagrande, and his men must meet with someone here before they'll consider coming to Paris, am I correct?"

Enjolras nodded. "I've deduced the same."

"Ah, so we meet in the middle," Aurelie sang, a clever brow raised above her blue eyes. "But you cannot take the time to go, let alone leave your job once more for a journey, when Cuny has been doing exactly this for months. Lagrande and Cuny share 1832, that is all they need for common ground, but you feel he'll only trust someone he knows."

"That's where you believe you come in?" Enjolras asked.

Aurelie simply nodded. "I've now answered both your question and accusation."

"All right," Enjolras responded, then leaned forward placing his hand on the table. "The question of someone going to Lagrande is not up for debate; we both believe he needs to be procured. He's likeminded, has a remarkable way of reaching the hearts of other men, and has a brain unearthly designed for the strategy of war. You say I cannot go, I say I cannot send Cuny, and you believe that you are the middle ground in this?"

"Firmly."

"Well then, I'm telling you I won't allow it," Enjolras said. He then shrugged as he leaned back in his chair. "We'll have to find another way."

"Let me be clear," Aurelie said, her turn to lean forward, and she looked Enjolras directly in the eyes and held his gaze so he would hear every word. "When I said I would go with Cuny, I had already made up my mind. Lagrande is necessary, as is Cougourde. You're necessary here, Cuny does little else than speak to such men, and I am going with him to be sure Lagrande is secured."

A standoff took place, and had you seen this scene, you would without a doubt assume by their posture alone that Aurelie had the upper hand here: her delicate frame forward with her elbows on the table, Enjolras leaning back and looking at her through low brows. You would likely hold your breath as you watched Enjolras slowly straighten his back in this stare-down, shift his shoulders, and maintain Aurelie's eyes.

"You are forbidden to go to Aix," Enjolras said flatly.

He had never used such a word to Aurelie, instead arguing his point until they had reached a consensus.

"Forbidden?" Aurelie said with a smile that was nearly a sneer.

Enjolras leaned forward, holding her gaze so she would understand that he meant it with every fiber of his being.

"Forbidden," he stated.

Aurelie leaned back in her chair, but did not slump. She wanted to take in every inch of him as she spoke, and raised a brow of appraisal. "Saying that word wills me to defy you."

"There is not one ounce of me that is not severely serious," Enjolras said calmly, though he was far from calm. He'd never once thought in his life that he would dare forbid her from anything; he was not the husband to order his wife. But this was the one. He did not know what he would do if she defied him, he only knew there would be grave consequences.

"I'll visit Cuny this morning." Aurelie paused thoughtfully, as she did not really want to go either; it would mean time away from her family. But necessity often times dictates decisions, and it was important they get Lagrande. "I'll explain to him the importance and he will without a doubt escort me."

"Oh, without a doubt," Enjolras echoed, and his tone would have been sarcastic if he ever lowered himself to such a thing.

Aurelie, not above sarcasm, however rarely used, responded with an acerbic tone. "Oh, how very insecure you must be, Enjolras! I can see our journey now! Nights in an inn, likely with only one room available!"

"Stop it," Enjolras warned through his teeth.

"And the nights are so very cold!" Aurelie cried, then shivered mockingly.

"I said stop it now, Aurelie," Enjolras spat.

"I will," Aurelie responded. "Because the very thought of it ludicrous. How dare you even insinuate such a thing."

Enjolras' lower lip rolled forward. "If a man is to escort you across the country, it will always be me, and not because I don't trust you, and not because I don't trust Cuny. Because I am your husband and I will not even allow a person I don't know to think otherwise."

"It's all very reasonable on the surface," Aurelie agreed. "The very idea of someone believing otherwise is nauseating. However, we are not in a place right now for such convention. If I recall correctly, we were not in a place to be conventional fifteen years ago for these very same reasons, so if you'll ple—"

"Don't bring that up," Enjolras said. "We are well beyond my errors of the years leading up to 1832 and you are a far better orator. Don't lower yourself to rewashing yesterday's laundry."

"But it is dirty, none the less," Aurelie said with nonchalance. "You have business here that cannot be ignored for even a day. I will go, and I will speak for the both of us."

Enjolras shook his head furiously. "It's a five day journey at the least."

"Two if I ride horseback," Aurelie argued, then gestured in the air with her hands, palms to the ceiling. "I rode as a girl, I've ridden as a woman. Give me a pair of your trousers and I can jump fences with my speed."

Enjolras flung his hands into the air in exasperation. "Why are we even arguing how long it will take to get there? The point is moot! It's out of the question!" He suddenly rose, slamming his hands on the table and towering above her. "Take the paper to Cuny, let him know how important it is and that he is not to let me down on reaching Lagrande."

Rising from the table, Aurelie took the paper in her fist, eying her husband levelly. "I'll take it, but this is far from over!"

With that, she stormed from the dining room to retrieve her outerwear. She was rough with her motions as she yanked the jacket on, then flung a scarf around her neck, a hat on her head and began working her gloves onto her hands.

Enjolras was beside her doing the same. He then palmed the door knob. "Don't defy me Aurelie," he said as he held the door.

"Enjolras," Aurelie responded, her tone bland, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "There was a time I would have defied you without a second thought simply for ordering me about. It's for our children that I won't go to Aix, not for you."

It was the first time in their marriage they exited the house without a kiss.

* * *

A Triptych of Footsteps

The footprints in the snow were not those of a graceful, elegant woman. They were the footsteps of a child whom has stormed from his home with great plans to run away, knowing well enough that he'd instead run out of food and come home hungry and cold. It's this reason children storm away instead of sneaking. They know they'll have to return, so they make a show of it to prove a point.

Judging by the footprints, Aurelie was proving a point.

She did not hold her dress up or tuck her chin. Albeit stomping, she carried her head high staring outward on a level plane instead of down at her feet, which were covered with dirt and snow, as was the first twelve centimeters of her dress.

She had refused to flag down a coach, as she wished to feel the cruel wind and bitter cold. Not once did she shiver, denying her body the right to feel anything. She'd always had a defiant streak, but this was the first time since she was a teenager that it had been front and center, outwardly displayed.

If there was a reason for heartbreak, even that she would have switched off, but this was not about the heart. This was about her anger. The worst part of it was she knew how unreasonable and foolish the anger was. What a stupid thing to get this outraged over!

It was not the subject of the argument, it was about the contents. How they had positioned themselves at polar opposites of the spectrum when they could have dialed themselves down a few notches—and Aurelie agreed even she could have handled herself better—because it never had to rise to such a volatile level.

Perhaps it had been building up for six months and fifteen years. It's possible that this sort of outrageous behavior was necessary as the flame brought the kettle to a boil so they would remember how deep their love ran. Without passionate love, it is impossible to passionately hate. And while of course she knew that this was only passionate anger, she repeated in her head how she hated him and how she wished she had never married him.

This most certainly was an argument that could have maintained cooler heads, but it was that word that made it spiral out of control. Granted, they were on the path already, but a word that should have never been uttered left Enjolras' mouth and there was no snatching it from the air before it landed in Aurelie's ears.

Forbidden.

He knew it. Unaware that Aurelie was not in a carriage either, he had chosen to walk to his office for the very same reasons she had.

However, he was not passionately angry. He was passionately filled with regret. His footprints were more of a shuffle; the sort of footprints a child running away leaves after he's done something wrong and does not think he can face his family again.

Enjolras did not tuck his head in shame, but he did not care that the bottom half of his trousers were dampened from the snow. His body deserved a sort of physical torment along with the emotional torment his brain was inflicting. Socks sopping wet, shoes filled with melted snow, Enjolras trudged onward.

Multiple times it crossed him to turn back and follow her. He would not catch up with her until she'd arrived at Cuny's, but he could without a doubt reach her there so he could apologize this morning instead of waiting until he had returned for supper. But each time it went considered, he figured it would only outrage her further, as she would view it as him checking up on her safety and not his atonement for a word that should have never left his lips.

This was the sort of regret that had been building up for six months and fifteen years. It's possible that this sort of regret was necessary to feel before the steam from the kettle finally sang so they would remember the transcendent nature of their love. How when they were together, the world was no longer cruel and dark. How when they were together, they resided in heaven with nothing but the light of dawn before them.

But the world was cruel and dark, and it was upon their shoulders to usher in a new dawn for the human race. This was their sacrifice. Enjolras had always been keenly aware of his greatness, and the second he'd met Aurelie, he'd recognized hers. Of all men, Enjolras understood sacrifice, and that was where the regret lay.

He questioned himself. The entire way to work, he questioned every move he had made, and this was an action that rarely occurred. Thinking back, the last time he had doubted his strength and resolve was at the barricade on June 5th, 1832. And it was no small wonder as to why this was occurring now.

Both could move forward without regret, but it was that word that left them questioning everything. The word that had them reflecting upon their lives with so little time left of the certainty that they would continue to live. That they would ever return to normal again. It was a word that had been in the back of his mind every minute of every day as long as he could remember.

Revolution.

He was ready. Cuny had thought of nothing else since reuniting with Enjolras; Enjolras embodying the word so fiercely that Cuny often felt even he could not equal the man's dedication to a better world.

His footprints in the snow were determined. The sort of footprints a child leaves knowing he will never return home. That he will build a new life, those left behind be damned. It does not matter how cold or hungry the child gets, he will make his way.

Even in the smallest of actions, like leaving the café after a breakfast with two of his lieutenants, gave him more determination to see it through. They had gathered to summate the events of the night prior where a secret meeting had been held in the back room of a tavern in Montparnasse, then laugh over the brawl they'd had with some drunks out on the street.

When Enjolras had first invited him to dinner, he'd been ready after his fifteen years in prison. Time had only paused, Cuny was ready to keep up the good fight. Now he was borderline impatient. The campaign of banquets would come to a close in just under four weeks and, while he did not know the outcome on the bourgeois side, he knew the outcome on the side of the lower class. Every man he had met with had insurgents ready. The only reason they had not acted as of yet was their necessity to wait for a sign.

If they had the bourgeois on their side, it would have a better chance of success, but the upper class had proven time and time again that they were cowards. It would take a confrontation for them to act, whereas his friends, the poorest of France, would pile their furnishings now. The government had given them reason to since the day they were born.

Perhaps it had been building up for six months and fifteen years. This was their time to win. With the bourgeois finally on the side of the poor, it was proof the water in the kettle had evaporated, so with only a few drops left, it was only a matter of weeks, the very longest a few months, before the government would finally be overthrown. While the waiting agitated Cuny, he forced patience upon himself for the win France deserved.

Cuny was determined not to fail. Fifteen cruel years had passed, though he'd only been able to walk the streets of France for six months since 1832, and while he hoped for more time to roam them once more, he was ready to die in them.

It was that word that forced the patience. The inevitable word for every man born into the world, though still feared through life, or embraced contingent on choice. A word that could hold tragedy and glory at once, or separately dependent upon how life has been lived. The word that is a weapon.

Death.

When men are Forbidden, are Revolution begins; Death a certain outcome.

And it would make its presence known this morning.

* * *

A Good before a Horrible

The walk had calmed, and by the time Aurelie arrived in Montparnasse, she felt as though the cold had cleansed. It was a relief, though at this point, with how her skirt had soaked, she felt chilled to the bone. She supposed now that the heat of her anger had simmered down, her body was no longer able to compensate for the frozen conditions.

As this thought occurred to her, she could not help but finally notice those on the street. In Trocadero, the neighborhood was wealthy enough that the poor feared the consequences of sleeping anywhere near the residences. Instead they compiled in the slums.

Tiny fires were lit in barrels throughout the alleyways, some so bold as to light up a pile out in the open on the major roads. Each blaze was surrounded by so many people that Aurelie doubted those in the back were getting any heat whatsoever.

She knew better than to walk over to these crowds with coins, as gatherings such as these could easily turn into mobs. When homeless and poor, there is absolutely nothing to choose from, and in days of desperation they could become violent against those who were willing to give.

But at the little makeshift hovels of wood and burlap, Aurelie peeked into the slivers where the draping did not quite close, and when she found children, she surreptitiously tossed in a coin, then quickly hurried off.

Near an inn, she found a family without any sort of shelter at all; a husband and wife and their three children. Glancing around to be sure no one was close enough, she dug in her coin purse and retrieved a large sum of money, then tucked her chin and walked over.

"Monsieur," she said, nodding at the man, then turned to the woman. "And Madame," she completed. Letting her eyes obviously travel the inn as a gesture, she said, "Do you have anywhere to stay?"

The man, who was attempting to warm his hand through fingerless gloves with friction, shook his head. "I lost my job two weeks ago," he said, and his voice was stunted by a quivering chin. He peered downward and shifted his knee. "A work injury. I can barely walk."

The Madame, who had her arms wrapped around her children to protect them from both the cold and this stranger, eyed Aurelie warily. But Aurelie noted hope in her eyes as well, and it broke her heart.

"I'm rather ashamed to say we stand outside of this inn hoping for a few coins," the man continued, and he did indeed look humiliated as he admitted this. Aurelie remembered the sense of pride men had, even those who were the poorest of all. "Would you . . ." he hesitated for a moment. "Could you please spare a sou?"

Sucking in a deep breath, Aurelie felt tears prick her eyes. "You'll need quite a few, it seems."

The man lowered his head in utter shame.

Feeling the weight of the coins in her hand, Aurelie mentally counted what she must have pulled from her purse. It was good for a night at the inn and a hot meal for their family.

It just wasn't enough.

Stepping closer to the family caused the woman and children to shuffle back against the brick. It was quite a statement that this family feared even a woman, but it was the times they lived in, as the bourgeois could certainly be frightening.

But she did this so one no nearby would see her as she pulled her purse out and deposited the handful of coins back inside.

"I understand," the man said, meeting her eyes.

Offering him a crooked grin, Aurelie shook her head. "No, it's not that," she told him, knowing the man assumed she had changed her mind about giving them any coins. "You will need a doctor as well," she continued. Then, glancing around one last time to be certain no one would see, she pressed her purse against his chest.

His eyes widened, and he did not make a move to touch it. "I don't . . ."

"Take it, please," Aurelie said. The man finally reached up, and she felt the cold of his fingers through her gloves, which was saying quite a lot. "I'm not sure exactly how much money I left my house with, so if it is not enough for a physician and a few weeks' worth of lodging, you will find me at eighty-two, rue de la Pompe. There I will make up the difference and you can share a dinner with my family. I've no doubt my husband will have some suggestions for employment."

The man again shook his head. "I cannot take this from you, Madame!"

"You must," Aurelie insisted. "You have a lovely wife and three beautiful children behind you. In this world, it is impossible to recover all you've lost if you do not have support. I offer it to you now. Eighty-two, rue de la Pompe. Do not forget it."

As to not embarrass the man further, Aurelie spun and rushed away. However, he did not get far before she heard the man call out, "What is your name?"

Stopping short, Aurelie smiled and turned back. "Madame Enjolras," she said, then curtsied to show that she respected this man despite his status.

He hobbled forward a meter. "I will repay this debt!"

Aurelie nodded firmly. "If you feel you must."

She then hurried off and did not look back.

This left her with no money for a carriage home, but that did not matter. Aurelie was blessed. Another hour of freezing cold at the cost of a coach offered at least a week's worth of warmth to an entire family, and that was priceless.

The rest of her walk to Cuny's apartment, she realized she hoped she would see the family again under better circumstances, simply to know that they had survived. But if she did not, the vision of that family inside the inn eating hot soup was so heartwarming that she was satisfied.

Once at her destination, Aurelie rapped on the oak door of Cuny's apartment. The weight of her hand caused it to shift and the tiniest crack was revealed, his door unlocked. Through the breach, she heard some shuffling inside.

"Cuny?" she called as she leaned toward the door so her voice would carry through the split. She realized she did not know if Cuny lived alone. There had been a handful of times she had visited, but that in no way meant he hadn't taken in a friend or two, and with how filled the streets were with homeless, this happened often.

"Is someone there?" she asked, knocking once more, which widened the gap.

It was a gust of wind that sent the door flying wide open, and with this wind, she saw papers from his kitchen table soar through the air.

"Oh, no!" she cried, then rushed down the set of three wooden stairs and began snatching maps, newspapers and lists from the air. There was a pistol on the table, which she used to weight those she caught before she knelt down to retrieve the papers that had fallen.

Another gust blew through the house and she turned, realizing she had not closed the door behind her.

But she only made it two steps forward.

A man stood on the first stair. He slammed the door shut, then lazily spun around, swaying as though he was drunk, and met her eyes.

With a malicious grin, he said, "And what do we have here?"

* * *

The Hands of Men

Swallowing heavily, Aurelie straightened her posture, the papers on the floor forgotten. Without letting her eyes leave the man, she backed up a few steps until she felt the edge of the table, and behind her back, she let her hands discretely roam for the pistol.

"Monsieur," she said with a tone of strength. She did not like that he was slowly approaching her. She did not like the look on his face. She did not like that his eyes were filled with intent, and she knew the intent was dangerous. "I am here for Monsieur Cuny. Do you live here?"

The grin was ever present on his weather-worn face, scruffy hair sticking every which way from under his dirty gray cap. He rolled his shoulders in his brown woolen coat. "I do not," he said with a slight raise of a brow. "And I can see by the dress you wear that you do not either."

Finally Aurelie felt the pistol. Breathing a brief sigh of relief, she spun it to find the trigger; hoped it was loaded. But she felt it snatched from under her hand and whipped around to see what had taken it. Behind her, across the table, another man, this one shorter and fatter with dirty blond hair, met her eyes and laughed. "Nah uh," he tsked, then actually wagged his finger in the air. "Madame's have no place wielding weaponry."

Through her fear, Aurelie returned to the anger she'd thought she'd left behind. These men had no place _here_, and they were prodding a dangerous animal today.

And so she smiled a sort of sneer, daring the man in the gray cap with her eyes. "I'd suggest you stop there, Monsieur, and tell me what you want," she warned. "Another step may prove to be perilous to you."

His chin tucked in surprise. Then, a riotous laugh escaped his lips. Cocking his head to the side, Aurelie suddenly felt someone beside her on her left, and she glanced over.

A third, this man just as fat as the one she'd seen behind her, the same dirty blond hair, only he had a beard to match and wore a purple black eye.

"My friend here has a knife," the original man said. "And it seems my friend behind you has a pistol. I ask you, Madame, whom of us is in danger?"

Placing both hands on the lip of the table, Aurelie scooted up so only her toes reached the floor. She was terrified, but Aurelie was never one to show her fear, and these men must not see how frightened she was.

So she casually shrugged her shoulders with a dull gaze that read 'bored'.

"I suppose you have me," she said blandly. "As long as I'm stuck here, perhaps you can explain to me what you're doing in Cuny's apartment."

She heard a giggle behind her that was far too high-pitched for a grown man, and were she not afraid for her life, she might have laughed at how ridiculous the fat man sounded.

"Cuny owes us a debt," the first man said, who was still steadily approaching her little by little, taking his time. He appeared to be enjoying every second that passed, savoring it instead of rushing toward her, lest his moment go spoiled. "A few of his friends had a disagreement with a few of mine." He let out a pleasant chuckle as he held his hands up. "You know how these things can be. One minute they're yelling, the next they're swinging."

With a deep inhale through flared nostrils, Aurelie gestured to the obviously injured man beside her with her head. "And so you lost this brawl," she responded lightly, though kept her tone lower than most women so she would not be perceived as a weak little girl. "Though you seemed to turn out all right."

"I did," Gray-Cap said, then shook his head. "But a few more of my friends did not fare so well. They couldn't make it this morning."

There was an immeasurable amount of relief as Aurelie saw the man finally stop in front of her, and while he was far enough away that she could not reach him, he was far enough away that he could not reach her. Though that didn't help her much, as his black-eyed friend beside her was holding a knife and she very likely had a pistol aimed at her head from behind.

Still.

"I'm to understand this is revenge, then?" she asked. With her right hand—the hand that was on the opposite side of the man beside her—she gestured outward. "Are you here to steal or to beat?"

Gray-Cap pursed his lips to the side as though deep in thought. "A little of both, maybe? I can't say we'd decided yet. Of course finding him absent meant we could steal, though if he had been here we would have taken our share of skin."

"Well, as you can see, he is not here," Aurelie said, shrugging. Her nonchalance was abetting her fear, though very little. It was, of course, a show for them, but it was helping her as well. "If you'll kindly ask your friends to drop their weapons, I will stand here silently as you take what you wish."

Another low chuckle escaped Gray-Cap. "Plans change," he said. "Suppose what I wish to take is you."

Liquid metal replaced the saliva Aurelie swallowed, and she could feel the blood in her veins grow cold.

After a deep inhale to find a semblance of calm, through hooded eyes, Aurelie said, "I'd suggest against that. Should Cuny come home, he will no doubt kill you if found in such a vile act."

The man finally began walking again, and when he reached her, his gaze fell to her skirt. One of his disgusting hands touched her knee first, then ran up her thigh as he let out a low whistle.

"A bourgeoisie whore," he said under his breath. "What poor cuckold do you leave behind to sleep with a convict?"

This is what sent Aurelie into rage instead of fear. "Bring up my husband once more and you will regret it for the rest of your life," she hissed.

Gradually, the man slid his hand up over her chest until he was able to clutch her chin, and it was done roughly, fingers boring into the hollows of her cheeks. He searched her face, then reached up with his other hand and ripped her hat from her head. "Mm," he said, then licked his lips. With his free hand, he worked the buttons of her overcoat down while still locking her head in place so he could stare into her eyes. "You are a gorgeous little slut. Does the poor bastard know what you do while he works to provide for you?"

In one swift motion, Aurelie brought her knee up as hard as she could against the groin of the man, who released her chin as he stumbled backwards, clutching himself.

Perhaps it was the wrong move in this situation, as she felt the cold of the knife against her throat in the next second, then the click as the pistol was cocked.

Gray-Cap rolled his shoulders as he inhaled deeply, and now the man who had been behind her was beside him, one hand on his shoulder asking if he was all right, the other aiming the pistol in her general direction.

"Get away from me," Gray-Cap said, shoving the man with the gun. Meeting Aurelie's eyes, he said, "You should not have done that."

In one instant, with a fierce gaze that could have killed, he had lunged at her. The next, he drew his arm across his chest and backhanded her with the force of a freight train. He took a moment to relish in her cry, caught her eyes with a chuckle as he noticed blood trickle from the corner of her mouth. He then grabbed her waist, the jacket open, the front of her dress revealed, and he scooted her back on the table, the man with the knife assisting in holding her still.

"You should have heeded my warning about mentioning my husband," Aurelie said through her teeth. In the time it would take for him to remove her clothes, she would think through her options; exactly who she should push first, what she would grab to swing. For now, the best she could do was stay calm and collected.

Gray-Cap began to fiddle with her skirt, and just then, over his shoulder, she saw the door open.

Cuny blocked much of the light, simply a shadow between her and the gleaming snow behind him, and he froze in the doorway, his eyes widened and locked in Aurelie's.

The men had not noticed Cuny's entrance in their excitement as two held Aurelie still, Grey-cap tearing at her clothes, and Cuny held his finger up to his lips as for her to not make a sound. She infinitesimally nodded her head as Cuny carefully shut the door behind himself, then began to silently walk down the stairs and off to the left, which would take him completely out of the peripheral vision of the man holding the knife to her throat.

"I'll warn you once more," Aurelie said, stalling for time. "You do this, you will not see a sunrise again in your life."

"And if you don't shut your whore mouth, you will take your last breath," Gray-Cap said, now having made enough progress with her skirt that he was working her chemise up to her knees.

Aurelie glanced sideways at Cuny, who had picked up a plank of wood. With his hand near his chest as to not make any sudden movements, he pointed out his plan, which went understood.

"Well, I did warn you," Aurelie said, her tone defeated.

Gray-Cap looked over at the man with the knife. "Cut her if she speaks again," he ordered, then raised his brows lazily with a sigh. "Somewhere I can't see it, please. Wouldn't want to scar her lovely face."

Closing her eyes, Aurelie inhaled deeply. She thought of her family. Thought of her husband. Determined that if she made it out of this alive, they would never have such a fight again. She would never leave the house without telling him how much she loved him and giving him a kiss. She would not send her children off with Madame Moubray without hugging them at the door.

She then determined that these men would pay dearly, and this is what drove her to finally enact the motions Cuny had laid out.

Leading with her elbow, Aurelie jerked to the side at the man with the knife, then fell flat on her back so the knife would not slice through her neck as the man stumbled. In this position and with her skirt and chemise half way up her thighs, she was able to easily kick Gray-Cap directly in the stomach with all her force, sending him flailing backwards.

Cuny had leapt at the man with the knife. Both hands firmly holding the wooden plank, he swung, catching the side of the man's head and sending him to the floor with a loud groan.

He then held the board up over his head to bash the back of Gray-Cap while Aurelie rolled across the table, it taking two spins until she fell off the far side and on top of the man with the knife.

While on top of the bloodied knife-man, Cuny had managed to get his arms around the man with the pistol and was working it from his fingers. It fired at the ceiling, splinters of wood and dust floating to the tabletop.

The man below Aurelie was moaning and did not move, so she picked up the knife and scrambled to her feet. Once she had caught her balance, she saw Gray-Cap doing the same, and as he launched himself behind Cuny to pull the convict from his friend, Aurelie placed the knife on the table and retrieved the plank of wood from the floor.

Instead of hitting Gray-Cap, she went for the man with the spent pistol, swinging low and catching his knees. It was enough for him to crumple to the ground with a scream of rage and agony.

No longer needing to restrain the man, Cuny turned to Gray-Cap and swung, hitting him square in the jaw hard enough that Aurelie could see a splatter of blood that painted the cabinet beside them. Taking this quick moment between, he looked Aurelie dead in the eyes.

"Aurelie, run!"

Gray-Cap righted himself and caught Cuny near the ear, who took it much more gracefully before he popped him back.

But as Aurelie turned to run—and only turned to run for help, not wanting to leave Cuny behind against three vile men—a hand caught her ankle and took her to the floor. She fiercely fought against the fingers as they struggled to gain purchase; her fighting to climb to her feet once more as she looked behind her and found Knife-Man crawling toward her, blood staining his hair, face and shoulder.

Cuny only knew he had to protect Aurelie and get her out of here, even if it meant his death. In an instant, he rushed over and gripped the man's legs, yanking him back. With this, he did not realize this left Gray-Cap in front of Aurelie, and Cuny screamed as the man gripped a fistful of Aurelie's hair, using it to lift her to her feet.

"One move and she dies," said the man.

They both made for the knife.

It was Gray-Cap who got it first, and with his eyes on Cuny, a cruel smile on his face, he held it up above his head, then plunged downward, directly at Aurelie's back.

Tripping over both Knife-Man and Aurelie, Cuny deftly caught Gray-Cap's wrist, though the knife sliced his own. Still, he bit through the pain, this nothing in comparison to the physical agony his body had been subjected to in the past.

Instead of stabbing into Aurelie's back, the knife fell on its hilt, then tumbled to the floor beside Aurelie. Above her, punches were being thrown, and Aurelie clutched the handle, teeth bared, eyes wide, and the rage emanating from her entire being.

Gray-Cap still had a fistful of hair, so Aurelie could not escape, nor could she lower her torso to the ground. So she straightened her back, on her knees. She then stabbed the man in the stomach.

Everything stopped.

Cuny released the hold he had on the man's shirt, which sent Grey-Cap stumbling back against the cabinet with a look of shock and horror, clutching the side of his stomach. Aurelie collapsed, not forward, but back onto the balls of her heels as she stared at the man she'd just stabbed, unable to comprehend that she'd done such a thing.

A quick blink sent the moisture in her eyes down her cheeks, though she did not truly cry. Not a sound was uttered as Cuny passed by her, calmly picking the knife up from the ground. She did not wince as Cuny grabbed the man by the chin.

She did not blink, her eyes holding Gray-Cap's, as Cuny slit the man's throat.

The two other men were groaning on the floor, unaware as to what had just taken place.

Time stood still.

Cuny dropped the knife, then turned to Aurelie.

"Are you all right?"

Aurelie nodded. Swallowed.

Eying her levelly, Cuny asked, "You understand why I needed to do that?"

Aurelie nodded once more.

"You put him out of his pain," she said dully, knowing it was she who had killed him.

It was Cuny who nodded, then surveyed the scene. Took in the two men who were balled up on the floor. He was evaluating the damage and thinking through exactly what his next step was. He determined it finally and sucked in a deep breath. This time, without looking at Aurelie, he said in the darkest, severest of tones: "You need to leave."

Aurelie did not feel she could move, though understood fully why she must. While she wasn't certain if Cuny would kill these men, it was possible so they would not turn them in. If he was going to knock them out and get the help of friends to take them away, she should not be here when his friends came. If he let them run, he was no doubt a murderer and would be taken to trial.

It did not matter which of these three options Cuny had decided upon. Either way, Aurelie needed to be long gone before it took place. She did not need to see two more men murdered, she did not need to be a part of a scheme taking them away, she did not need the police dragging her to prison.

Cuny had saved her life, and was now sacrificing his.

Or, he'd planned to. But life does not always favor the best intentions, and today every force in the universe was against them. This was apparent when there was a loud banging on the door before it burst open. Two inspectors walked in and stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, taking in the bloody scene.

"On behalf of our Sovereign the King, you are under arrest."


	7. Book Six: Inspector Poutou

**BOOK FIVE:**

**Inspector Poutou**

* * *

A Denial of Innocence

Aurelie and Cuny had raised their hands to the sky in surrender as the officers hurried over, locking them in irons behind their backs. As they were escorted from the apartment, the men on the ground were lifted, though they fought the officials as fiercely as their broken bodies would allow, these men far more criminal than the revolutionary. They, too, were placed in irons. The four were locked into a paddy wagon and taken to a police station in Bastille.

There, they parted ways, a guard at either shoulder, an inspector leading the way to separate rooms for interrogation.

Aurelie did not know that she was brought to a cleaner, tidier room than the others. It was not an office, but she was not chained to a wall as the other three men were. Instead she was able to sit across the table from Inspector Poutou. The guards unlocked her irons, then were ordered to bring her water and a damp cloth.

While waiting for these things, pen in hand, Poutou asked: "What is your name?"

"I am Madame Aurelie Enjolras."

This was scrawled in messy handwriting across the top. "And your address, Madame?"

"Eighty-two rue de la Pompe."

In that second, the inspector glanced up at her to meet her eyes in a sort of surprise that a woman from Trocadero was here with blood on her hands. He'd been told she'd been taken from the scene of a murder in Montparnasse, and though she dressed as a bourgeois, he had not expected her to hold such status.

"If you live there, may I ask what you were doing in the slums?" he cried after a moment, and he was certain of her innocence upon knowing her arrondissement, no doubt she must have been dragged there for some vile plot by the hands of these men.

"I was visiting my friend, Monsieur Cuny," Aurelie stated, as she would not lie. The whole truth would be told, and if that made her a murderer, then that she was. The story would speak for itself.

Poutou narrowed his brows, failing to comprehend. "You are friends with a dangerous convict on parole forever?"

"I am."

His features morphed once more as he thought that maybe this woman was lying about her residence, or that she was not what she seemed, or that this woman had taken the convict for a lover on the side. But the more he imagined it, the sicker it made him. There was no way this creature was guilty of anything. It was preposterous.

The guards returned with a glass of water and a damp towel, which were both placed in front of her upon the table.

She did not move, and this reaffirmed the inspector's instinct that this woman was good, because she was no doubt waiting for him to give her permission to pick one up. She was gentle, judging by how proper this was, and did not want to alarm him.

"Please, Madame," he said, then pushed the glass a centimeter closer to her so she would know that he meant it. "Clean yourself. Drink."

Taking a sip of the water first, Aurelie then picked up the damp cloth and ran it across her face. She was surprised by how little blood there actually was, as the scene around her had been extremely macabre. Aurelie was unaware that her back and hair was soaked in it.

"You should remove your jacket," Poutou suggested, having seen her back. He gestured at a guard, then saw how Aurelie winced and shied away from the man as he had reached out to help her with the shoulders.

No, this woman had done nothing wrong. Beneath it all, she was terrified.

"I'd like to leave it," Aurelie said under her breath, embarrassed that she'd had this moment of fear over the idea of the man assisting her in the garment's removal. "Please," she added for good measure.

Poutou shooed the guard away with his hand, though he desperately wanted to get her out of that blood-soaked jacket. A woman this beautiful should never be bathed in such gore.

"Please leave us alone," he said to the guards, and they were dismissed.

A flash of fear coursed through Aurelie as she watched the men disappear through the door. The very thought of being left alone with a man made her chin quiver, her eyes shutting tightly as she braced herself for anything and everything, as she had now been through anything and everything. With a stunted breath, she was able to find the calm, forcing herself to be present, to be strong, and to be accurate.

"How are you friends with a convict?" he asked, studying her now that the guards had left. He couldn't fathom it.

"We knew each other before he went to prison," Aurelie said.

"Does he scare you?"

"No."

"After what transpired at his apartment, does he scare you now?"

"No."

"Are you friends with the other two men in custody?"

"No."

"Had you ever seen any of those men before?"

"No."

"Were they friends with your friend?"

"No."

Poutou could not help that he was entranced; in fact leaning closer and closer to her across the table with each answer. He had never spoken to a woman like her before; she was offering nothing. Had she tacked onto any statement, he may have questioned her answers, as men tend to get wordy as they lie. She was brave, bordering on heroic in tone.

Though he needed the story, so he rephrased his line of questioning to evoke it from her.

"What happened in that apartment?"

"I killed that man."

Aurelie did not blink.

The inspector did, however, quite a few times. If Aurelie had slapped his face he would not have been as shocked as he was now, and she could see that he did not believe her. So she continued.

"I came to visit my friend," she explained. "Three men who had ended up in a bar brawl with his friends the night before were waiting to ambush—"

"Madame," Poutou said, then shook his head to shake the shock from him. "Do you want a lawyer?"

"No," Aurelie said, her tone a flat-lined statement, so clear it could have echoed through the room. "They were waiting to ambush him and, because his door was open, I walked in believing—"

Poutou cleared his throat. "Madame," he tried once more, then swallowed heavily. "You need a lawyer before we proceed."

"I walked in believing he was home," Aurelie continued as though he'd said nothing, though she had allowed him to speak without interrupting him, and she had heard every word. "Once inside, the man with the gray cap: the man I killed, shut the—"

"Please, Madame!" Poutou cried as he held his hands out, and he wished he could pretend he hadn't heard her again say that she had killed that man. He watched Aurelie shut her mouth and raise her brows to let him finish. "I must insist upon sending word for a lawyer before you continue."

"But I am telling you I am guilty," Aurelie stated.

Poutou did not like how she would not blink as she said such things. He was at war with himself. Oh, how he wished it was always this easy, yet this was the most difficult interrogation he had ever been a part of. So very many guilty men and women had sat face to face with him where he had done everything he could to get an admission from them as they demanded representation, yet here this woman sat refusing one!

"Madame," he said peaceably, placing his hands delicately on the table and circling them, trying to get through to her. "If you say such things, I will need to write them down and they will be called into examination when this meets trial."

Aurelie nodded. "Then please," she said, then held her hand out. "I will write it for you, if you cannot."

Cuny had saved her life. The man in the gray cap would have died from the wound she had inflicted one way or the other. She would not say otherwise.

Poutou stared at the paper in front of him, the pen across the top. He had done nothing but write her name and place of residence. Peering at her address, such an important part of Paris, he said, "Listen." He did not hand her the pen. "You live in Trocadero. I know these homes and I know men who live in such places hold a wealth I would not achieve in seven lifetimes. Perhaps you already have a lawyer your family uses?"

"My husband is a lawyer," Aurelie stated.

"Then surely you must understand that you should not speak to me any further!" Poutou cried. He couldn't fathom it! The woman must be mad, however pulled together she looked. He thought for a second. She was covered in blood, so perhaps this was trauma. He knew of the delicate natures of high-born women. "You must be in shock. I will reach your husband."

"Please do," Aurelie said.

Poutou heaved a sigh of relief and pushed his chair from the table so he could send a messenger to fetch her husband.

"But before you do that," Aurelie began, and Poutou cringed. "Please write that I have killed a man this morning."

These words made Poutou blanch, and his face became ashen. He swallowed, picked up the pen, scrawled across the paper, then swept it up before she could see that he had written: _The Madame denies any involvement in the murder._

He then tried to make a quick exit, but Aurelie stopped him once more. "Should you leave me here?"

"What?"

"I am not in a cell," Aurelie said, circling her hands around the room. "You dismissed your guards. I could walk from here while you call upon a messenger."

"And where would you go?"

Aurelie smiled, and Poutou could see the sorrow for the first time today. "I believe I would walk through Bastille," she said wistfully. "I'd head to 712 rue de Clare in Bourse, where my husband's office is. There I would tell him to hold me and never let go."

Poutou held his hand out. A moment passed as Aurelie stared at it, though Poutou could not pinpoint what she could be thinking as this was done, as her face gave away nothing. "Then come with me," he said regretfully. "I will place you in a cell so you will not do that."

Using his hand to help her to her feet, Aurelie followed him through the door.

* * *

Disdain, Defense, Destitution and Double Standards

There were twenty-six women in the holding cell, including Aurelie.

This particular cell had iron bars and brick, separating other packs of women and men in their own cells, separated based on their crime, and as Aurelie looked around, not one woman was like her.

They were crammed inside, seating lining the outer rim with three benches together in the middle. The space was no larger than eight meters, though it felt like only four. There was nowhere to lean, nowhere to lay, and for Aurelie, nowhere to sit. These women looked upon her with disdain from the moment she'd entered, Aurelie the embodiment of the reason they were locked up: the bourgeois generally robbed, the poor turning to thieves, the police called when all they'd needed was a scrap of food. As Aurelie would walk over to a free space, a woman would quickly shuffle so it was well occupied.

But it was important to Aurelie that she be treated as nothing less than her crime, though she was unaware she'd been placed with the most benign of female criminals. As it was the bourgeois who generally escaped the law, she was not one to accept double standards. These women had not committed a crime nearly as grave as she had, yet Aurelie had no doubt she wouldn't be sentenced to a day after a trial, if she even ended up with one at all.

She had given up her jacket on the way, the inspector insisting upon its removal, and though she had looked blandly upon it once off her person, she had been stunned by the amount of blood across the back.

And so in this cell, she hovered. She thought through the events of the morning, thought through the blood. She had without a doubt rolled in it, the first when she'd tumbled from the table on top of the man with the knife, whose head was so wounded by the board cracking the side of it that he'd been caked in red. She did not know the bulk of the blood on the back of her jacket was Cuny's as he'd caught the knife on its way down. She did not know he'd saved her life in that particular moment, too panicked by the grasp on her hair as she was yanked by Gray-Cap.

Gray-Cap, whom she had stabbed and Cuny had finished.

She was innocent by law of self-defense. It was Cuny she worried for, and if it meant a few days in a communal prison cell, then so be it. Even if it meant years, which it would not, Cuny had saved her. The horrifying part of it all was that, were she a poor woman who had actually been raped, she would be found guilty and likely hanged.

But perhaps it would meet trial. Perhaps she would be found guilty. Perhaps she would be hanged. Perhaps she would leave her children without a mother, and as the thought struck her she began to feel dizzy.

Dizzy enough to have to grip the iron, and one woman, in a sudden moment of pity, took her hand and said, "Sit, dearie."

It was a relief, as it seemed that everything was catching up with her finally. Aurelie did not know she had been in a state of shock, instead behaving according to her own standards. But she had demanded the inspector write of her guilt. She hadn't even had a chance to get her story out.

"He didn't even listen to what happened," Aurelie muttered, her eyes in the unfocused nether of the cell, seeing her crime and not the poor and sick women.

The woman who had kindly offered her space placed a hand on her knee. "They never do," she said sympathetically. Aurelie felt the woman squeeze her leg and she glanced down, finding the woman balling up the fabric. "Awfully nice dress, you got there."

Leaning her head back, two bars cradling either side, Aurelie breathed, "You're welcome to it," with a heavy sigh.

This caught the attention of all the woman immediately surrounding her, and they whispered amongst themselves, some noting that she had gone mad, others asking if she was serious, while two women boldly began to argue who deserved it and if they should strip her from it here and now.

Aurelie caught one above all: "I wish I had such a dress."

It reminded her of Manon, who had said exactly this the night of their first banquet at her house, which of course Langelier had been right about; it was no banquet. Not in comparison. But it had kicked off the campaign.

There was little more Aurelie wanted than the stupid horrible gown off. Surrounded by these women, half of whom were likely innocent, the other half guilty of trying to live, she remembered all those years ago how she had worked to become one of them. Her first day in Saint-Michel when she'd felt so out of place arriving on rue Saint-Martin that she had dirtied her dullest of dresses, browning a patch with a match, scraping the fabric across the floorboards.

She felt the same inclination here, if only for them to stop staring at her for what they viewed as a far worse crime than any she could commit: having wealth.

Her eyes fell on the woman who had said this, and in her, she saw her former self. The woman was no woman, she was a girl, certainly no more than twenty. Like Aurelie, she had blond locks and embodied the innocence of Aurelie when she'd first arrived in Paris, though of course we know that Aurelie had been fierce from the get-go.

Glancing further down, Aurelie could see a few drops of blood across the neckline; an area that had gone uncovered as Gray-Cap unbuttoned her jacket. "There is blood on it," she noted, the same tone one would use as they stared at the sky and mentioned it looked like it would snow. "Does that bother you?"

More rumbling, the questions as to how this fine woman could possibly have blood on her dress, women around her now openly mentioning how her hair was a frizzed ball upon her head, pointing out the places she still had blood: in her hair, along her jawbone, across her clavicle.

The girl who had originally echoed her daughter shook her head. "Blood does not scare me," she said strongly.

Aurelie smiled what little she could. Nodded firmly at the girl. "Well, I no longer wish to wear it," she said, then rose and awkwardly worked the buttons down her back. It pained her, not because she was in pain, which she indeed was, very much so, but because it was generally Enjolras who did this for her. She felt near tears as she imagined it was her husband and not the work of her own hands.

Once down to her corset and chemise, she resembled the ensembles of those women who surrounded her, albeit clean instead of dirtied and worn.

She handed it over to the girl.

"It's yours," she said, then sent a daring look at all those who surrounded them. "It is hers," she warned them, this meant to tell them that if they dared try to take it away, they would have to face her. And judging by the looks she received, as much as they hated her, she had been caked in blood, so she was equally feared.

Aurelie then sat down feeling far more comfortable and far more at ease. She gently closed her lids and meditated, trying to find some repose. It was impossible, and now that she thought about it while comfortable without the weight of the dress on her person, she could see little else than Gray-Cap working it up her legs. It made her sick.

But the cold always cleansed, and this cell was indeed cold. Chills reminded her that she was alive. Thus she forced her thoughts upon the family she had given her purse to before the terrible events at Cuny's apartment. And though the images of the violence would suddenly interrupt the perfect picture of those children eating warm soup in the inn, a peace was found in the middle ground between the wonderful and the horrible.

* * *

Admitting Innocence While Demanding Guilt

In a private room, Cuny, who had already been grilled by an inspector, was now facing the superior officer: Poutou. After sending a messenger to retrieve the woman's husband, he felt an urgent need to find out how the extraordinary woman had ended up in such brutality.

Cuny, who was cuffed to a chain on the wall, had been given a chair and that was all. He had not received water or a damp cloth to wipe the blood from his skin. His eye and jaw were beginning to swell, cuts on his brow and lips. They had not cared that he was still bleeding from his wrist, though the wound was not grave. The blood had begun to clot, so he wasn't about to bleed out.

He had been careful in his answers as to not indict Aurelie, taking sole ownership over every move that had been made. But this new inspector who began interrogating him was curious.

"I am inspector Poutou," the man said, then excused the guards. As with Aurelie, he did not wish for anyone else to overhear their conversation, as he felt the words this pair spoke could end her up in more trouble than she should be.

He was tormented by this; having never felt in his life that the guilty should be found innocent. But he did look upon Cuny as the worst of criminals and desperately needed the wrong answers so he could feel right once more.

Rolling his eyes, Cuny looked away and did not answer.

Poutou pulled the other chair closer to the man and sat down, which was new. He generally towered over criminals to make himself imposing, evoke the fear in them. Poutou was well known for his success with convicts, widely regarded as the greatest inspector to have graced Paris since a man who had committed suicide in 1832. A man named Javert.

"Consider your yellow passport forgotten for a few minutes," Poutou said. "Let me pretend you are not a violent criminal on parole and speak to me as a man."

Cuny chuckled darkly at this, as no man could ever forget the passport he carried. He was judged by it for the rest of his life, and frankly, that was perfectly alright for him. He'd earned it and relished in what he had done in 1832 at both the barricade and his trial.

"All right, Monsieur," Cuny said, his eyelids dully fluttering. "I am not a criminal who had his death sentence commuted, and you are not a government goon ordered to find the innocent guilty. Let us begin this game, shall we? You are first, I will follow."

Unsure as to why this made him so uncomfortable, Poutou shifted in his seat as he studied the man. On one side of the spectrum, he'd seen violent outbursts in these rooms, the other side: men who would not even speak. Between he found tears, denial, admissions, lies, guilt and innocence.

He had never encountered well-spoken sarcasm.

"You were brought here with a woman," Poutou said, then continued as though Cuny may not remember, "Blond and covered in blood. Do you know her?"

"Yes."

"Does she visit you often?"

"Yes."

"You know she resides in Trocadero?"

"Yes."

"You know she is wealthy?"

"Yes."

Poutou felt as though it was all an echo of the interrogation he'd left only thirty minutes ago. He was once again talking to a pillar of strength, and it was intriguing and terrifying.

"How do you know this woman?"

Cuny shrugged with nonchalance. "I am a friend of her husband."

The best way to cross examine criminals is to report conflicting stories, and Poutou did just this.

"Really?" he asked in feigned surprise. "She claimed you were a friend of hers."

"Is being a friend to the wife of a man exclusive?"

The inspector pursed his lips to the side. "I suppose not," he said, then scooted his rear to the edge of the chair as though they had been friends for life. "But tell me this! Anything more to your friendship with her?"

Cuny glared at the man with distaste. "It sickens me that you would suggest such a thing," he said through his teeth. "Beautiful as she may be, coveted by many men, that is a woman who would never let an eye stray sideways. Think of me what you will, but Madame Enjolras is not to be besmirched in my presence."

While Poutou of course had not though for a moment that the woman was anything but perfection, he was impressed by how this man defended her honor, going to show exactly how well loved and respected Aurelie was.

"But what was she doing at your apartment?"

Cuny's wicked chuckle had returned, and through it, he responded despondently, "I couldn't tell you. We never ended up in any sort of conversation."

"Because you were ambushed. . . ."

Always considered dark and on the brink of dangerous, Cuny surpassed it all with how his brows lowered into brutal gaze that could leave a man or woman running away screaming.

"Because I walked in finding three men attempting to rape her."

Poutou felt bile rise in his throat, remembered how she had shirked away as the guard had tried to take her jacket. There was a sudden need for him to run and retrieve her from the holding cell and usher her into the original room where she could be protected until her husband arrived. But he wrestled with it all so greatly! Why had she been so adamant of her guilt? A woman raped was innocent in self-defense, of course that was—

His stomach churned further. He, himself, was guilty. Women who had struck men had so often claimed the same, yet he had locked them up anyway, dismissing their claims. Of course they were crying it so openly, in direct opposition of what he'd just seen. But Aurelie had proven to be like no other woman he'd ever spoken to.

Poutou had never felt desperate in his life. Not until now, and he managed to impossibly edge further on the chair, this time wrought with concern.

"Tell me," he urged. "Did she kill that man?

Cuny's laugh was loud and joyous, no longer a dark chuckle. He tossed his head back with the sound, as if he found it the funniest thing he had ever heard. Poutou stared at him, wondering if he had said something that warranted this outburst.

"Did she kill that man?" Cuny cried, still laughing, and were his wrists free, he might have slapped a knee. It was, of course, a show—he knew Aurelie had killed before, and he had seen her stab that man—but he still found it hilarious.

"I'm failing to see what is so . . ." Poutou trailed off. He did not know himself; never had he felt that he was not in control. In fact, it was beginning to outrage him that this man—this convict—had managed to get Poutou on his side. "Why are you laughing?"

Cuny shook his head, reigning it in. "No," he said, then inhaled deeply through an open mouth that created a hissing sound. "Aurelie did not kill that man. I did. But if you'll allow it, I'd like to ask you a question."

Poutou shrugged. "All right."

Suddenly Cuny lurched forward, so abruptly that the chains clanged together, and so quickly it sent the inspector back in his chair, spooked by this shadowy criminal.

"If you were a woman and men were attempting to rape you, would you kill them?"

Poutou was a man of honor who believed firmly that good men were righteous and bad men were sinners. That there was no gray area and, as a zebra cannot change his stripes, a man cannot change who he is in his heart and soul.

Poutou was a righteous man, the men he sent to prison were sinners. Murder, of course, was the worst of them all. Taking a life was unforgivable by man and God, and those who do such should suffer not just a death, but a public humiliation of one before they entered the gates of hell.

His beliefs had suddenly been turned upside down.

And his voice trembled as he answered thus:

"Yes."

Cuny grinned, and despite the chains, he managed to turn his palms up to the sky.

"And so it is."

* * *

A Favorable Outcome

_Monsieur Enjolras,_

_It is of great importance that I see you imminently at the police station on rue de la Cerisaie in Bastille as soon as you receive this message. There was an incident this morning involving Madame Enjolras. She is in our care, please ask for me personally when you arrive._

_Inspector Poutou_

This message had taken some time to reach Enjolras' hands: exactly ten hours after it had been sent. The messenger had first travelled to his place of work. There he had been told that Monsieur Enjolras was at court this morning, but when the boy arrived at the municipal building, the case had wrapped up and the Monsieur had taken to lunch. Where, he had inquired? No one knew. So the messenger had asked if he was due back anytime soon, to which the bailiff, after having looked over the schedule, told him that no, he had no other trials to attend to this afternoon.

The messenger had then hurried back to the office and asked where the Monsieur generally took to lunch. A man named Cremieux explained that Enjolras could be anywhere, considering he often made personal calls around Paris to visit those he defended instead of bringing them to the office.

After looking over Enjolras' itinerary for the afternoon, they found it offered no information whatsoever for his plans. A strange coincidence neither knew of was that Enjolras had gone to the police station to meet with a man accused of lechery, though it was not Poutou who showed him to the accused, so he was oblivious to the fact that the intriguing woman's husband was in the building at all.

Enjolras left the station around three, heading out to speak to Langelier of a case brought against him, then furthering their discussion over a glass of brandy as to how they must be prepared for any scenario in these final weeks of the campaign, and should the government decide to not step in, how they could take advantage of public perception, proving the government weak and too afraid of the rise of the people, which would ultimately mean they must rise and begin a coup.

It was at exactly this time that the messenger showed up at Enjolras' private residence. Chaverin opened the door to find a frantic, soaked messenger and shuffled the poor boy inside, calling to his daughter Elaine that she fire up some hot water and bring the boy a towel.

The messenger, however, had been told specifically to see that the message was placed in the hands of Monsieur Enjolras, and therefore politely repeated to Chaverin as he drank down the tea that he was sorry, he could not leave the message with even the butler. Chaverin, who was fully trusted by Enjolras to handle such secrets, had dealt with this often enough with the many confidential documents for the eyes of the attorney, only.

Thus, the messenger was on his way.

The poor young man made circles through the afternoon, returning to the courthouse, then to the Monsieur's house, then back to the law firm. Rinse, repeat. Again and again he travelled, as Poutou had made it clear that this message was urgent and the boy was determined not to let Poutou down.

Just as the messenger was about to give up and return to his employer, explain that they would have to wait until tomorrow, he decided to make a final stop at the Enjolras household on rue de la Pompe, mostly because he liked walking the fine clean streets through Trocadero while admiring the houses he would never reside in, and when the butler answered the door this third time today for the boy, the messenger was relieved to hear that he was home.

The messenger was shown into the foyer, where Enjolras met him promptly, looking agitated.

And Enjolras was agitated. No, the word agitated is far too light of a term for how he actually was. He had returned home to find Aurelie missing, and he had spent the last hour obsessively flipping from anger to worry. Angry that she might have just turned around and defied him, as he'd feared, and worried that she may have done so and it was out of his control, something Enjolras feared more than anything.

Of all things, he was most uncomfortable in a state of helplessness, as it was rare that he did not feel a complete control over every element of his life.

But through this anger and worry, he had not once imagined that she was in any sort of danger; the two of them separated often enough that they were fully aware the other could take care of themselves. He could feel her, always, and throughout the day he'd been hyperaware of her because of their morning. He'd felt that something was wrong, but chalked it up to their parting.

He did not make it fully through the message before he was gathering his jacket and demanding the messenger leave the house at once to find him a coach so that once he was out on the street, transport would be waiting.

The messenger, seeing the side of Enjolras that was terrifying, gulped and did as he was bid. He'd never seen eyes that held so much power and intensity as those of the man who had taken the paper from him, and he exhaled in enormous relief when he was able to locate a carriage quickly. He did not want to face the Supreme Being he had just met should he fail, as he had failed so terribly throughout the day.

"I haven't any idea when I will return," Enjolras said with urgent authority, talking to Chaverin without directly looking at him. "Be sure Madame Moubray is aware and my children are not to know anything is amiss."

"Yes, Monsieur," Chaverin said, bowing his head, then held out Enjolras' hat. "Is there anything else I can—"

"Nothing, Chaverin," Enjolras said. "As soon as you've talked with Madame Moubray, you and Elaine can take your leave for the evening."

Enjolras then stormed from the house with his hat in hand without ever hearing Chaverin say, "We wouldn't dare."

"Monsieur," the messenger called, beckoning Enjolras with an urgent wave of his hand toward the carriage.

Enjolras was inside a second later, ordering the driver to Bastille. He then eyed the messenger and cocked his head to the side. "What are you waiting for?" he asked the boy.

Wide-eyed, the messenger quickly dashed in the carriage beside Enjolras, the coach rolling down the street before the door had even shut.

The building had closed its doors to all but officers and intakes two hours prior to Enjolras' arrival. The messenger ran ahead of the man he'd spent ten hours trying to fetch so he could see Poutou first, as he now felt he was in danger of losing his job. The man he'd been sent to find was obviously someone of great importance and, awestruck as the boy was, a single word from a bourgeois had enough power to have him out of employment.

Enjolras took two stairs at a time up to the station, not caring the least how he was perceived when it came to Aurelie. He did not think of the many men he had seen entering this building and exiting; how slowly they would walk, appearances around police meaning everything. He did not think about the men who worked here; men who either greatly respected his profession or despised him for defending people viewed as criminal. He did not think about how these stairs were a routine for him; they were entirely new, as though he'd never in his life felt his feet against the pavement.

He only knew his world was dark, and ahead, there was light.

Before the door had shut behind the messenger, Enjolras' hand was swinging it wide open once more. And once inside, it briefly dawned on him that he had never entered this building in the night, and what was already a cold institution felt far colder and more menacing than ever before.

"—all day," he heard the boy from around the corner. "I went to Bourse, and the municipal building, and then to Trocadero . . . back here! I tried, Inspector Poutou . . ."

Enjolras saw the tall Inspector round the corner, and they locked eyes. The inspector, who had been so entranced throughout the day, baffled by how the convict and Madame had affected his head, recognized now the man who stood by the entrance at intake.

"_Consultant_," Poutou breathed reverently, then inclined his head out of great respect for the prominent senior attorney. "Forgive me, Monsieur Enjolras. I suppose I needed the face to the name as to recognize you."

Enjolras was not interested in formalities.

"Inspector Poutou," Enjolras said, his chin pressed outward, jaw locked. He did not nod, instead he began to hastily unbutton his jacket as he was in motion, refusing to stand in place for pleasantries. "You wrote me of my wife. Where is she?"

Blinking a few times, Poutou, a public servant, albeit one of the best, kept his posture smaller than the great man in front of him out of humble respect. He had never liked this man, while at the same time admiring his tenacity and acumen. He viewed the man as both genius and the enemy; this one of the few barristers who could manage to undo his hard work.

His movements languid, Poutou gestured toward the hall. "If you'll follow me to my office, _Consultant_, we can—"

Poutou stopped himself as he noticed Enjolras would brush by him before he finished his statement, and so he turned before Enjolras could catch up and walked down the hall with the imposing man behind him.

Something he'd also hated; how such a small framed man, barely his height and with such youthful features, could be so commanding and imperial.

Enjolras had already removed his jacket and gloves by the time they were in the office, and he tossed them carelessly onto the wooden chair he should sit at, and would refuse to, as was made clear here:

"Please, have a seat," the Inspector said, sitting himself down at his desk.

"No, thank you," Enjolras said.

And so the Inspector rose, made it about half way to standing, then ended up hovering with both palms on the desk. He did not like that this put him a head lower than the lawyer instead of eye to eye, as Poutou was a tall man, but he could not continue to shuffle lest he be viewed as weakened instead of humbled.

He was an equal mix of both, along with the many other feelings that this man's wife had evoked this morning.

"I do wish you would sit," Inspector Poutou said regretfully, then sighed. It was time to physically admit that he was weakened, and after a wipe of his brow, he fell down upon his chair despite it all. Gripping his chin with one hand as he leaned back, he met Enjolras' eyes. "There was a severe incident this morning that I must make you aware of before I bring your wife out here."

He did not like that he received only a bland look in response. He hated that Enjolras folded his arms over his chest in impatience.

Of course the angelic woman would be married to a god; everything managed to fall into place. Both fearsome, both imposing, both virtuous and supreme.

"Four of my officers were alerted of a disturbance in an apartment in Montparnasse," Poutou explained. He was a careful man and good at reading reactions, but Enjolras gave him nothing other than patronizing defiance. "They rushed to the residence and found your wife inside with a convict."

He paused again to gauge any reaction, and finally received one along with a response.

"Monsieur Cuny," Enjolras said, and the look he gave clearly read: _what of it?_

"The very same," Poutou said. He was tired. He'd been waiting all day for this man's arrival, and he had spent much of it preparing an explanation that he couldn't seem to remember now presented with the husband in front of him. "Will you please sit down?"

"Does it make you uncomfortable that I am standing?"

Poutou swallowed, then offered a self-deprecating smile. "To be quite frank, it does," he said as his shoulders slumped.

Enjolras could not help the small grin. "I will sit," he stated. "After you tell me my wife is unharmed."

"She is perfectly safe!" Poutou cried, shaking his head. He then realized that he had not visited the lockup since he'd placed Aurelie in there, though at her own request. In that instant, he thought he should excuse himself and retrieve her immediately before Enjolras saw her behind the iron bars, but he had to be careful. For the first time in his life, not only was he questioning some of his core beliefs, he was feeling as though his job may be in jeopardy.

"Before I listen to another word, I need to know that she will come home with me tonight," Enjolras said, then raised his brows with a motion of his eyes though could have been a roll, if he ever lowered himself to such an action, which he did not. "If you are about to tell me she has been arrested, I do not have time to waste listening to any sort of story when I can be working my way through the legalities of her imminent release."

Poutou finally felt the first wave of relief, having decided in his interview that she would be released to her husband regardless. In this, he was breaking the law, as the woman had admitted to killing a man. But on the other hand, a convict had admitted the same, and he had willfully made the decision to believe the con instead of the Madame, despite thinking it may be the other way around once he'd spoken to Cuny.

The words haunted him still: _If you were a woman and men were attempting to rape you, would you kill them?_

Through that question, Cuny had as much as proclaimed himself as innocent. Poutou hadn't even known of the attempted rape until he'd interrogated the man; astounding him further that Aurelie had kept herself so pulled together.

"She was arrested," Poutou admitted, and he sorted through his words, as they must be chosen carefully. "But there is no need to wake any judges. I will release her to you, and I'd like to speak to you not as inspector to _consultant_. Simply as two men, for I have some fears that you need to address with her before she gets herself into any trouble."

Enjolras deliberately moved his jacket, gloves and hat over to the coatrack, taking his time and hanging them carefully in place, then sat down in the chair, concerned and forcing patience.

"I am not here to interrogate you, _consultant_," Poutou began.

"If we're to speak as gentlemen, you'll address me as Enjolras."

"Monsieur Enjolras, I only—"

"Enjolras," Enjolras responded, insisting upon dropping all formalities if this inspector demanded a casual discussion of concern.

"All right," Poutou finally submitted. "Enjolras."

"Poutou."

The hint of a grin was at his lips, and was this not so urgent and grave and paramount, it may have shown outwardly. His tone had no doubt been bordering on mockery, as he viewed this all as a ridiculous but necessary charade.

All he wanted was his wife safely in his arms.

"Because you knew the man before I said his name, am I to understand . . ." Poutou did not know how to phrase the real question, and he wasn't lying when he'd said this was not to be an interrogation. He truly was troubled and wanted to be sure Enjolras was on the same page. "They have both claimed friendship, and please forgive me, as this question is quite out of line and possibly delicate, so I hate to—"

"They are not lovers," Enjolras interrupted. "Many men lose their wives as madames to others on the side, and pertaining to my wife, many have wished to make her such. I am not ignorant, I am firm. She lives for me as I live for her."

"I of course knew that with only a word from her," Poutou said, a blush on his face over the awkwardness of the conversation, but he felt completely alleviated that above his instinct, he'd now had the denial of all parties involved.

Enjolras crossed a leg. "I sent her to Monsieur Cuny this morning," he explained. "We have both known him for a very long time, and you may call him a convict, as he was found guilty of a crime. But a yellow passport does not brand a man as a sinner, and I do not view the action he was convicted of as a crime when it was a time of war. If you'll remember before judging him as a peccant man, our good King of July announced to all that he was a pardoner of the barricades of June, despite leaving those found guilty behind bars and chained in slavery."

Poutou coughed uncomfortably, such diatribes the very reason he feared this lawyer above the rest of his kind. Enjolras was far too knowledgeable, far too persuasive. It was hard to listen to the man without questioning everything you believed in.

"Madame Enjolras was—"

"Aurelie," Enjolras said, another near smile on his lips. "I'll remind you that we speak as friends, and you have my permission to refer to her as one of yours."

"Aurelie," Poutou said, his skin prickling in discomfort. "Forgive me. We are speaking as friends, and it's important to me that we keep it on such a level, as I am about to dishonor myself by breaking a law. Enjolras, your wife was arrested at the scene of a murder in Monsi—in Cuny's apartment."

It took every ounce of effort for Enjolras to not physically react to this statement. His muscles craved to tense against such a violent blow in hearing this news.

"Well," he began, then tried to hide the lump in his throat that his saliva had to work through to swallow. "If she is innocent, I will take her home and hear the story of how this came to be."

"Ah, yes!" Poutou said, trying to contain his turmoil and anguish. He could feel himself beginning to sweat. "This is where I say we must speak as friends. It's so very delicate, and what I'm about to say is strictly between us and out of my deepest concern for such a—"

"Stop," Enjolras said, his impatience getting the better of him. "I know my wife, I understand your concern based on the insistence that this stay man to man. I like you, Poutou—" He half meant this, it was more a level of respect for the man's dedication to his work, despite Enjolras' viewing the man as ruthless with those he strived to protect "—so let's get down to it, shall we?"

Poutou nodded and retrieved the paper atop a stack of interrogation transcripts. He gazed at it for a moment, then spun it around to Enjolras.

Enjolras leaned over the paper, saw that very little had been written. The name of his wife, their address, and below it: _The Madame denies any involvement in the murder._

"So then you believed her, you've done your job well," Enjolras said.

"This is the problem," Poutou said, defeated. "What I wrote is a lie. Your wife confessed."

Enjolras became ashen and his heart sunk to the pit of his stomach.

"The only reason I penned anything was that she demanded I write of her guilt," Poutou continued, his words agony. "I only placed the pen on the paper so she would believe I was doing as she asked. This record states otherwise, which is why I tell you that I have dishonored myself by breaking the law, but consul—Monsi—Enjolras—" It was so difficult to decide what to call him; he felt at a loss, as he had all day. "—I will stand by this record. There was no man in the room to say otherwise. It is why I sent for you immediately, for you must rein her in before she gets herself into any trouble."

There had been many times Enjolras felt gratitude, but never this magnitude. This man, Poutou, was surprisingly looking out for his best interests, and for the first time, Enjolras respected the harsh inspector, however unfair to others it was.

And his gratitude was shown as he uttered: "My god . . ."

"Yes," Poutou agreed vehemently. "I have struggled greatly with this, I cannot even begin to express how I wrestle with such a thing. Your wife is exceptionally stoic and rather fearsome in firmness, brevity and eloquence, which is why I make such an exception. This must be kept between us; I am trusting you here, for this could ruin me."

"I don't know how to thank you," Enjolras said honestly, his heart both light and heavy at once. Of everyone on this great earth, he knew his wife, and he understood the effect she had on people. What he did not understand as of yet is why she would dare insist upon her guilt! Where was her self-preservation?

Like a brick, he remembered that she had none. She was self-sacrificing, always.

It was Cuny.

"Monsieur, I do not know if she has spoken to anyone else, but she demanded she not receive any special treatment, threatening to walk from here," Poutou explained. "I regret to tell you that she is persuasive enough in her demands that I placed her in a cell, and I will take you to her now under a full release. But because she was arrested, she will be involved in the proceedings, so I urge you greatly to make her see that the story must be changed—" He then leaned forward severely and with warning "—even if it is true what she says."

Enjolras nodded firmly. "I will aid you in the investigation and offer you my full cooperation from here on out. But this also means that I will act as _consultant_ on behalf of the innocent parties dependent on the facts, while prosecuting those guilty."

Poutou finally fully relaxed, so much that he brought his hands to his face and dug his fingers into his tired eyes.

"I wish I could tell you more, but I put a halt to the interrogation after she refused representation and demanded I write of her guilt," Poutou explained. "I have spoken to Cuny, yet still do not have the full story. All I have is the report: my officers walked in to find five men, among them your wife and Cuny, two others severely injured, and one man dead. Facts but no story."

"And of the two men?" Enjolras inquired.

"Loudly declaring their innocence," Poutou said with a tone that went understood: _The louder the declaration of innocence, the larger the amount of guilt._

Unfortunately, in these times, this was not a reliable statement, as those unfairly arrested had enough to fear, it was never a wonder when they would scream of their innocence as they were carted away.

Everything caught up with Enjolras, and now the only thing that mattered was getting his wife far away from this place.

"You'll free her?"

Poutou nodded. "I'll take you to her now," he said, then rose, casually continuing. "Get the story, and make it straight. I'd like to meet with the both of you tomorrow when she remembers that she is innocent."

"I will make it happen."

* * *

Clarity of Madness

When Enjolras rounded the corner, his eyes were drawn to the focal point of his world, always. For a moment, he froze in motion; a simple split second of time as he saw her angelic face, head nestled in the most crooked, uncomfortable way against the iron, her shoulder against the support of an elderly woman beside her.

The cells were quieter than in the day, torches keeping it lit enough to see, too dark to _do_ in this abhorrent place. But there was the murmur of voices and cries echoing throughout the large expanse. His wife, never a chin tucked, never a shoulder slumped, was fast asleep.

And so he had faltered with an emptying of his lungs, relief palpable to see that she was safe. It only lasted a moment before he skipped a step toward the inspector, and as the keys were jingled at the lock, the women inside stirred to life, many rising as they wondered what was happening.

"A _plaignant_!" one woman cried, which caught the attention of more, though he looked nowhere but at Aurelie even though the voices rose, crying at him for help.

"No, I seen 'im before. He's a _consultant_," another called, louder now. "_Consultant_, please, I am innocent! My children!"

The door was unlocked, and at the noise, Aurelie stirred, her eyes fluttering open. And she felt him, as she'd been able to feel him, always. In that instant, everything caught up with her so heavily that she lost all semblance of herself, not because she had feared this place, but because of what she had gone through this morning. Her salvation had arrived.

She met his eyes, and her own began to water.

"Madame Enjolras," Inspector Poutou called out loudly, just as he would were she any common criminal ordered to attention.

Aurelie rose from the bench, realizing now the many pains in her body, and it was not easy to take to her feet. When she began to stumble, Enjolras dashed inside to catch her. The world stopped turning, and it was only the pair as she was steadied in his arms, gazing up at his face.

And for some reason, a moment later, she was angry. She was so very irrationally angry and she could not pinpoint why. It wasn't that he was late, it wasn't residual from their fight. Perhaps it was aimed at the world, aimed at the state of the poor women who had surrounded her this day, aimed at the vile men who had attacked her in the morning.

Whatever it was, it swelled through her so violently it rocked her body and she immediately shoved herself away, knowing it was irrational, yet unable to control it.

Enjolras peered at her with confusion and worry.

Poutou recognized something was not quite right, so he said, "Come with us, Madame," and gently shuffled the few women who pleaded him at his side so they would not push by as he ushered the lawyer and his wife from the cell.

Even though it had not been a full shove, Enjolras had noted it and did not touch her as they left the holding cells and transitioned through a thick iron door into the long, clean hallway. He did take her in, however, even if it was only her back, and realized only now that she was wearing just her corset and chemise.

Worse, her hair was caked in dried blood.

At intake, she signed a discharge form. Enjolras went to sign it as well, but Poutou caught his arm and shook his head. He did not understand what the man was silently trying to communicate at first, but upon remembering their discussion, this was a full release based on innocence, not a discharge into someone's care.

"Poutou, I thank you," Enjolras said at the door, then shook the man's hand. "I will be by tomorrow the moment I have cleared my schedule."

"Enjoy your evening, Monsieur," Poutou said, deeply inclining his head, as was proper to a man of wealth and status.

Enjolras turned and reached for Aurelie to place a delicate hand on her back, but she jumped away, and his eyes widened, then turned to slants, once again peering at her and completely failing to understand what was going on. He could always read her, even though she was an enigma to everyone around them. Now she was an enigma even to him.

"Cuny," she said, her pitch high in question, her tone innocent and bewildered. She let her eyes dart between Enjolras and Poutou, who looked at her in confusion. She shook her head as her hands rose on limp wrists, palms at the sky. "Where is Cuny?"

The chuckle that Enjolras exhaled was that of a man uncertain and nervous. "Whatever do you mean?"

Aurelie became firm. "Cuny," she insisted. "Where is he?"

"Madame, he is in a holding cell similar to the one—"

"What?" Aurelie cried, not a shriek, though not a whisper. It hovered in the nether bordering on a demand and completely appalled.

"Aurelie, let's get you home," Enjolras said, holding his own jacket out for her to shrug on, making the mistake of reaching for her once more even while knowing better, and he did not like the show this offered Poutou and the two officers at intake as she lurched away.

"Where is Cuny, Enjolras?" Aurelie demanded, now insisting that he answer the question instead of trying to pull her away. She had not seen him since they'd been carted away.

Deciding it best to not reach for her again and desperate for the explanation as to why, he felt even more urgent in his need to get her home so they could talk.

"Cuny is here," Enjolras said. "He's perfectly fine." This a complete lie, only meant to pacify, as he had not once inquired as to the state of Cuny.

He then saw Aurelie's eyes slowly, so very slowly, narrow into slants, and she peered at him in what he could only read as rage. Between her teeth, she said, "Get him out, Enjolras," and pointed toward the long hall.

"I'll deal with it come morning," Enjolras said quietly, not appreciating the display, as they were both extremely lucky this had gone so well. The inspector had gone above and beyond what Enjolras thought him capable of, and a scene on their exit could ruin everything.

Fury. Aurelie was furious. "He saved my life," she breathed, and her breathing was heavy and fast, and if she were thinking of it, she was on the verge of hyperventilating, though it didn't cross her mind. All she wanted was Cuny free. "Get him out, Enjolras. Get him out right now!"

Her tone had become progressively louder with each word, and once again the mistake was made by Enjolras to grab her, only this time, she did not just lurch away, she jumped back and her arms pointed firmly at the floor.

"Get him out!" she screamed on the top of her lungs. "Get him out!"

"Monsieur, I suggest you take her—"

"I'm aware," Enjolras responded darkly, then gave up all pretenses. He was not angry, though it may have appeared that way to Poutou as he slid his jacket on, then quickly snatched Aurelie's wrists, and, aiming his words at her, he said, "We're leaving."

"Get him out!" Aurelie demanded for the last time, stomping her foot on the ground and ripping her wrists from his grasp. Only this time, she did not say it again. Instead, she shoved the door open and stormed from the station with her husband at her heels.


End file.
